


Exits

by JodyNorman



Series: The Legacy [16]
Category: Poltergeist: The Legacy, The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Psychic Bond, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:23:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 64,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2086998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JodyNorman/pseuds/JodyNorman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair both notice that they are slowly drifting apart, and there seems to be little they can do to stop it. That is, until a new case sets Jim on a collision course with his future, one that might or might not include Blair — it all depends on the choices Jim makes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published as a stand-alone novel

          "Come on, Ron, hurry it up there!" Brad growled as the young man descended the last few rungs on the ladder, leaping lithely off it to stand on the damp dirt. "Let's get this done," the older man said shortly, turning to stump off down the dark corridor. "Sooner we get this line fixed, sooner we can get back up to some lunch."

          "Not to mention clean air and sunlight," Ron muttered as he followed, wrinkling his nose. "I hate bein' down here."

          "Got yourself the wrong job, then," Brad said sourly as he led the way down the passageway. "Nope," he snapped as Ron started to turn down another fork. "That way leads to that Chinatown part they found last month, remember?"

          "Oh, yeah," Ron agreed, swinging around to follow him again. "They'd better hope that the sewer lines don't run through that, or they ain't gonna preserve nothing. Can you imagine going down in the dark to see an old Chinatown? Probably looks pretty much like the one we got today, so what's the difference?" He hrumphed and spat off to the side. "'Sides, there ain't no dancin' girls or the like, if you know what I mean."

          Brad scowled. "Come along. Thought you had a girlfriend," he tossed at the other man as Ron came up to join him, the two men moving side by side down the corridor.

          Ron shrugged, his headlight bobbing with the movement. "So? Don't mean I can't enjoy myself, too."

          "Whatever," Brad said bored. He turned a corner and coming to an abrupt halt. "What in the devil…"

          They both stared at the large pile of earth and rocks piled along one side of the tunnel, then Ron glanced up at the older man. "This tunnel better not be collapsing, or I'm outta here, and that line can just go stick it up someone's ass."

          Brad shrugged. "Minor rockfalls happen sometimes, but it ain't never been a problem for anyone. We'll just tell the company and they'll send someone to check out this section and fix it."

          "Glad to hear it," Ron muttered, then glanced over at the pile of rubble and frowned, stepping closer. "Thought I saw something shine." He picked his way forward, then bent to run his plastic-gloved hands through the dirt. "Hey, look at this!" He held up a bowl, the wavy lines engraved on its sides seeming to dance in the light. "This looks Chinese," he said, turning it around in his hands to study the characters inscribed on its outside.

          "Do tell," Brad said, interest sharpening his voice as he stepped forward, taking the bowl from Ron.

          Ron released the bowl without protest, leaning forward to scrabble in the pile again, this time pulling out a sealed urn. "Cool!" He brushed off the dirt, then examined the artifact. "Wonder if we should give these to the guys over at the dig?" He glanced over his shoulder at Brad, then grinned at the man's expression. "Nah, didn't think so," he agreed. He wrenched at the urn, finally able to yank off the top, then upended it and dumped its contents into his hand.

          Ashes sprayed from the urn, gray in the light as most of it slipped off his hand and drifted to the dirt below. Ron shook his hand vigorously, wiping it off on his pants. "Yuck." Righting the object, he stared into the hole, then shrugged, dropping the artifact, which shattered as it struck a rock. "Nothing there," he announced, stepping forward to examine the hole the rockfall had opened in the wall.

          "Leave it," Brad ordered, sticking the bowl into his belt. "We got that line to fix; we can come back here later, see what's here. No one else is gonna be covering this area, just us."

          Ron paused, staring wistfully into the hole, then shrugged. "Okay. But—" he grinned at the older man, "let's make sure no one else gets this before we do, just in case." He bent and grabbed a good-sized rock, setting it in the hole in the wall and forcing it to fit, then shoved a few small ones into the nooks and crannies left. Backing off a few steps, he studied the wall, then, satisfied with the results, turned to rejoin his impatiently waiting friend, and together the two of them headed down the corridor again.

          The wild, coruscating lights and the screams started a little later, but no one heard them with the traffic in the streets above. Soon after, darkness and silence fell again, but there was a creeping sense of presence within the tunnels now.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "So it's final," Jim said, watching Simon puff his cigar furiously. "You're leaving."

          "Don't say that like I'm dying or something!" the older man growled at him, removing the cigar to wave it at him. "It's just over to Lacovue, that's all – short trip down the freeway and you're there. _You_ know that," he admonished.

          Jim looked away, discomfort twinging through him at the reminder of his time spent in the seaside city.[1] "I still don't like it," he said flatly.

          Simon eyed him keenly. "You're going to be acting captain while I'm gone."

          Jim looked back at him. "I don't like that, either."

          The captain sighed, dropping his cigar on his unnaturally neat desk. "It's time, Jim." He shook his head at Jim's grimace. "I've been here a long time," he said quietly. "Seen a lot, lost a lot, won some. I tried to make a difference here, and maybe, to some degree, I've done it." He plowed over Jim's attempts to break in. "Now it's time to leave, while I'm still ahead." He met the Sentinel's eyes. "Besides, it's not like I'm leaving the fight; being captain of Lacovue's department still keeps me in the ring."

          "And Emily being there doesn't mean a thing," Jim said blandly, his lips twitching.

          "Course not," Simon said gruffly, straightening an already ordered pile of folders. "She likes it here in Cascade, too."

          "She likes anywhere you are," Jim finished knowingly. "But Lacovue is closer to home for her, and she'd be happier there than here in the big city. And Daryl's going to the State University in Lacovue," he added, his tone mild. "But that doesn't have a thing to do with it, either, of course."

          Simon picked up the cigar and drew on it for a long moment. "Nope," he said self-righteously. "It's just time to move on, that's all." He saw Jim's look and drew himself up, then laughed.

          Jim blinked at the sound. Laughter wasn't something he associated with the tensely driven captain he'd come to know and respect across the years, and he bit back a sudden memory of Blair's laugh the other night, ringing with the same note.

          "Who am I kidding?" the captain asked, smiling at Jim. "Sure it matters that Emily wants to move down there, and Daryl's going to college there is a bonus. Maybe I'll finally have the time to sit down and connect with the kid before he goes off to live his life." He puffed on his cigar a few times, looking soberly at Jim. "But it is time to move on, Jim. For all of us, you included."

          "Not me," the Sentinel said stubbornly. "I like things just the way they are, thanks."

          Simon shook his head at him. "You don't get that option, and you know it. Ever since Rafe met that woman with her two kids, he's been thinking of getting off the street more, and he passed the Lieutenant's exam yesterday. He wants your job. Young Kane is moving into partnership with Henri, and it's working well. And you're getting older, Jim. Even a Sentinel does, you know. It's time for you to retire from the streets fulltime. I know how that makes you feel," he said, the understanding of the tone catching Ellison in his throat, leaving him wordless, "but it's time you faced that truth." He took a breath, eyeing Jim thoughtfully. "And Blair's not here as often as he used to be."

          Jim rose, moving to the window to stare outside, his vision automatically shifting to Sentinel mode as he looked down seven stories to the street, focusing on the pedestrians entering the building, looking for the young man with the dark, wind-blown hair who had become the kernel and focus of his life.

          But Blair wasn't here, and wouldn't be here. Not today. His Guide had moved on, too, he knew. His world was larger now, teaching at Rainier, working with the Oran Institute as an anthropological researcher, and finally, last but underlying all the others, moving into full membership within the Legacy Cascade House, of whose team he was now a member. Working as Guide to Jim's Sentinel took its place within the new structure, but it was not the focus and aim of his friend's life now.

          _Blair's not walking away from you… He's simply walking point on a trail he knows that you'll follow in your own time, and in your own way… What we do here is the ultimate in detective work, and believe me, having a Sentinel and a detective is very much worth the wait. **[2]**_

          Jim turned away from the remembered conversation, the uncertain twist in his stomach and soul the same one he'd felt for months now. He and Blair had never talked about his eventually joining the Legacy, not since he'd told Blair of his precept Maggie Cartwright's invitation and said he needed time to think about it, but he'd seen the thoughtful look in his Guide's eyes sometimes, and knew without asking what his friend was thinking about.

          But joining the Legacy meant leaving his life as a cop, and Jim just couldn't imagine doing that.

          "Yeah," he said in belated reaction to Simon's not-quite question. "He's here tomorrow." The statement dodged the issue neatly, and the stare the captain leveled at him as he turned around made it clear that the older man knew it, too.

          "Uh huh," Simon agreed, his voice studiously neutral. "Well, I'll be going down later this week to finalize the papers on the house we're buying down there, so you'll have a chance to get your feet wet in this job for a while, see how you like it."

          Jim grimaced but didn't comment. Damn it, why did Simon have to know him this well? Why couldn't the man assume, as so many people did, that moving up in the police hierarchy was the obvious next step in his career, a step that he'd find challenging and exciting? The move might feel more natural to Jim if his friends assumed he could do it, that he wanted to do it.

          _Sure it would_ , his inner voice mocked. _No one else makes that assumption, either, not Joel, not the other guys in the bullpen, not even the higher ups who watch me like a hawk. And not Blair, or Maggie. They all look at me and wonder, even those who don't know a thing about what Blair and I do, or what the Legacy does. Just once I'd like someone who just assumes that my path is the one I thought it was all my life – climb the ladder, Detective to Lieutenant to Captain, 'that's the way it is, the way it's supposed to be.' Just once._

          "But before you sit in this chair," Simon said gruffly, waving his cigar at Jim, "you've still got paperwork on your own desk to clear, so get to it."

          "Sure," Jim said with alacrity, ignoring his friend's too knowing gaze as he turned to escape the office, relief running through him like water.

          Rafe was just entering the bullpen, the nine-year-old twins who were starting to look up to him like a dad trailing behind, and Jim sighed as the two boys broke into whoops, racing into the room with an energy that immediately hiked the ambient noise in the room by at least several degrees. Ellison sighed again, quickly turning down his hearing and trying not to scowl as the slight headache he'd been harboring all morning quickly took a turn for the worse. He couldn't help but remember the Legacy House at this time of the morning, quiet and calm and peaceful, sunlight bright across the white stone walls, the noise of the city only a distant hum that he could easily block out. Tranquil, he thought as he worked his way to his desk through the hubbub and excitement of the bullpen. It was tranquil.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Sean!" Blair bounced on his heels as he bounded through the wall, not even pausing as the Legacy's security system identified him and flipped the electric force field off.

          The young man seated in front of the large-screen computer looked up and grinned. "Hey, weren't you supposed to be with Jim today?"

          Blair waved his hand. "Nope. Tomorrow. Just went to meet one of my master's students, she needed some advice on how her thesis is going, and David, up at the Institute, wanted me to look over some stuff there; they just got in a new shipment from some of the South American tribes and he wanted my input. I'm due at that Chinatown renovation in about an hour; just figured I'd drop in. And Jim–" He cut himself off. "So how's it going?"

          Sean sighed and glanced up at him, shaking his head. "Earth to Blair, here. Roger isn't the only project I've got on tap, you know. I have got other things to do, too, and I've only been here about a half hour or so. Don't you have some books and stuff you need to study in your office?"

          Blair grimaced. "Most of 'em have nada in them. Zip, zilch, zero." He sighed, moving restlessly around the room. "I guess freeing souls from something like Roger hasn't been high on tribal societies' wish lists, so their shaman haven't worked out rituals to do it."

          Sean watched the anthropologist shuffle over to a nearby table, peering at the scroll preserved under glass that lay on it. The young linguist scowled, then said, his voice carefully cheerful, "Hey, aren't you waiting for that guy from the Boston House to arrive? I mean, he's worked with some of Roger's victims before."

          Blair glanced back at him, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. Maybe he'll have some ideas."

          "There's two books waiting for you in the library; just arrived this morning," Sean added, a smile quirking his lips as Blair turned back to him, a spark lighting his eyes again.

          "They got here? Good!" And he was off again, out through the wall.

          The linguist shook his head again. "I don't know how Jim does it," he muttered, turning back to his computer. "I really don't. I'd've killed him before now."

          "Give it time," a dry voice advised. "It's early days yet."

          Sean glanced up with a smile. "Hi, John."

          The priest cum medium sauntered in from the other room and leaned on the table, eyeing Sean thoughtfully. "So how's it going?" he asked, the words an obvious echo of Blair's.

          The young linguist sighed. "I'm going to kill him. Eventually," he hurried to add, still not quite sure how far he could go with the priest.

          John's lips lifted. "What's he doing?"

          Sean leaned back, running his hands through his hair. "Being Blair," he said resignedly.

          John was silent, waiting, and the younger man sighed. "He's got focus, you know? I've never seen anyone with this kind of– of, I don't know, energy, I guess. I can't keep up. I don't know how Jim–" He cut himself off, shrugging.

          John let the quiet of the room sift between them for a moment, then shook his head. "Very few people have the kind of commitment and discipline that Blair does. It's a gift he learned well. Jim has learned to let the energy roll over him and through him, and I suspect that he listens more to the tone and feel of his Guide than to his actual words much of the time. But theirs is a unique partnership, and you must build your own with Blair. Just remember that no one is comparing you, and Blair would be the last person to want you to be like him."

          Sean looked up at him and grinned, albeit a little weakly. "Yeah, I know. I don't feel like he's trying to make me like him, or to compare us or put me down. This is just the way he is, and I haven't tried to work with his kind of energy before. Don't get me wrong," he added quickly. "I like him, a lot, but it takes some getting used to."

          John smiled at him. "I suspect that working with Blair can be rather like being run over by a freight train; you simply have to ignore the roar as it goes past." He paused, then added gently, "And he misses Jim terribly."

          Sean looked down and nodded. "Yeah," he agreed quietly. "I can tell." He glanced up at the priest again. "I think he thinks no one notices, you know? But it's kind of hard to miss."

          John's lips quirked. "Very." He sobered. "Let's hope that they find their path together soon."

          "Amen to that," Sean said, a fervent note underlying his words that made John laugh as he turned to leave.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Hand 'em over, old man!" The dark-haired gunman grinned at the storekeeper, who clutched the small jade figurine closer.

          "This belonged to my ancestors," he protested. "It has been in my family–"

          "Hey, Chink," said the second man, also dark-haired and with a clear family resemblance to the first, cocking his gun and aiming it at the older man, "you heard him! Put it in the bag with the money and hand it over! Now!"

          Cowed, the older man placed the figurine into the bag and pushed it across the counter. The older of the two thieves grabbed it and grinned, then swung out the door, followed by his younger brother. The storekeeper lifted his head and looked after them, his eyes burning, then hurried around the counter and followed them through the door and into the street.

          Following them down the road toward the better-lit section of Chinatown, the shopkeeper looked around as the sidewalks swelled with people. There were no police to be seen on the night-shaded sidewalks, though, and he sighed, then picked up his pace as the thieves turned into a parking garage.

          With no very clear idea of what he was doing, the older man crept into the darkness behind them, watching as they unlocked a car and slid into its front seats. Their laughter rolled over him, as well as an occasional scornful "Chink" and "old man," and he clenched his fists, shame burning through him.

          The car doors slammed, and he heard the engine turn over, catch for a minute, then die. Sudden white light blazed inside the car, its glare blurring everything within the vehicle. The shopkeeper lifted a hand to shade his eyes against it, squinting. Thumping and thudding sounds echoed from inside the car, and he winced as a scream rang out, joined by another one. A hand smacked the windshield, then slid down it, red ooze trailing it. The glass quickly became coated in red, and the screams intensified before stopping abruptly. The light died.

          The driver's side door popped open, and the old man took a quick step back, although the thick darkness made the inside invisible.

A small item dropped from the inside of the car, rolling to the old man's feet. He stared downward, then slowly bent to grasp the small jade figurine that lay there. The artifact was slightly warm to the touch, but clean and unmarked. He gazed at it for a long moment, then closed his fingers around it, turned and ran.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Are you sure, Jim?" the shaman questioned, his brows drawn together as he stared at his partner across the supper table. "I mean, I've got the time, and it'll seem strange, not going in with you."

          Ellison smiled at him, warmed by the question, and more, by the admission. "It'll seem a little strange to me, too, Chief, but I don't have any real cases going on right now, and I think Simon wants me to, ah, move some of my stuff into his office tomorrow, so you wouldn't really have anything to do." He cocked his head at the younger man. "And it's not like you couldn't use the time; I heard you on the phone with one of those students of yours, and just your side of it sounded like tomorrow would be a better time to meet him than two days from now."

          Blair flushed faintly and glanced away, and the Sentinel smiled, affection warming the regret he felt about missing an opportunity to be with his partner. "Am I right?" he asked.

          The anthropologist shrugged, then glanced at him. "Sure, I could use the time, big guy, but that's not the point. That's always been true, and it's never made any difference between us. I'm your Guide; I want to be there for you."

Jim cuffed him lightly alongside the head, grinning when Blair pretended to duck the light blow. "I'm telling you the truth, Chief; tomorrow it'd be wasted time, just paperwork, and you have better things to do than that."

Blair's eyebrows went up. "Funny," he said dryly, "that never used to matter. I ought to come and make sure you still know how to do it; it's been a while, after all, wouldn't want you to mess up something you'll have to pass on to Simon."

Jim's eyes narrowed. "Very funny, Sandburg. I'll have you know I can do my paperwork just fine all by myself; I did it for years before you came along. And besides," he added before the younger man could rebut, "you _do_ have better things to do."

His sober tone halted the anthropologist's incipient comment, and Ellison continued before Blair could find his footing again. "You're not just a grad student along for the ride any more; you're an anthropologist with a full-time job and responsibilities you can't walk away from and rearrange just to be with me. I'll be fine."

Blair sighed, looking up at him, the blue of his eyes darker than usual. "All right, big guy, but I don't like it. I'm your Guide, too, and that's also a responsibility I won't walk away from."

Jim couldn't hide his smile, and reached out to ruffle his friend's hair. "I know that, Chief."

The shaman grimaced and pushed his hair back into place. "You know I hate it when you do that," he protested.

Ellison's smile widened, and he put his fork to his plate again. "Yeah, I know, Sandburg."

Blair rolled his eyes, then glanced back at the detective, his gaze knowing. "Must be pretty scary, moving into Simon's office, even if it is just to hold the fort while he's gone."

Jim looked away, carefully maneuvering his fork under a pile of mixed vegetables on his plate, then lifting a forkful to his mouth and chewing the suddenly tasteless greens. He didn't look at Blair.

"'Course, it's a good way to see what your path would look like, standing in the captain's office."

Jim focused on mixing the gravy into his mashed potatoes, turning the fluffy white shade into a brown-streaked puddle on his plate. He could hear the note of uncertainty in Blair's voice, Sentinel-soft but clearly there to his ears, and he held back a wince with main effort. He knew where his partner wanted to see him, but he didn't know how to envision that future, and so the rest of the meal passed in silence.

 

[1] See previous story in timeline: "Only a Stone's Throw _,_ " in _Sensory Overload #6._

[2] See previous story in timeline: "Roger's Calling," in _Sensory Overload #9._


	2. Chapter 2

          "The Chinatown murder is ours."

          Simon's flat statement was met with silence in the bullpen until Rafe spoke up. "Why us, Captain? It's only one murder, since they never found the second utility worker; not like that qualifies as our turf."

          Simon shook his head at him, glancing around at the rest of them, his gaze lingering an extra second on the empty chair beside Jim, who looked away. "It's not that easy. The Mayor's put a lot into promoting this Chinatown renovation, and between the ugly murder of that repairman and the disappearance of the other, and now this car found all bloody and no bodies, well," he shrugged at them. "The press is all over it, and the mayor wants it solved, A.S.A.P., so that development down there isn't affected."

          "Plus all those local businessmen who've invested in stuff in Chinatown," Kane put in dryly. "And next year's election year, too."

          A general mutter ran around the room, and Simon scowled at all of them. "Doesn't matter why he's doing it; fact is that he is," he said shortly. "That means that this goes on the top priority list, ahead of everything else you're doing."

          "Including our rape case?" one detective asked, a faint note of protest in his voice. "We leave it now and it'll go cold."

          "And I don't think we want that rapist to nail another older woman," added his partner. "He's already up to five. Another one wouldn't look good on the mayor's rap sheet, either."

          "Or ours," Rafe muttered.

          "Oh, all right," Simon acceded ungraciously. "You two stay on that, but the rest of you, I want you to focus on Chinatown. Here's the case files." He handed out file folders to the group, then beckoned Jim aside.

The Sentinel fell into step as the captain headed toward his office, already eyeing the small woman waiting impatiently beyond the doors.

"Sorry about this, Jim," Simon said quietly as they halted outside the office, "but you're going to have to run with this. I'm out of here tomorrow, so you're in charge." He waved off Ellison's startled oath, shaking his head at him. "Don't go there, and keep your temper. She," he nodded toward the office, "is the PR rep of the Mayor, and she's a handful. Take a deep breath and turn down the dials." He glanced around the room, an eyebrow lifting slightly. "Good thing you didn't bring the kid with you today; he couldn't run with you on this, and she wouldn't take well to him."

Jim throttled his automatic response and pushed on his 'neutral' look as Simon opened the door. A blast of perfume met him, and he clenched his jaw against the urge to choke.

"Turn down the dials," Simon murmured again as he turned to lead the way inside.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ten minutes later Jim had a raging headache, his tightly clenched jaw ached, and he had to forcibly remind himself that he'd never struck a woman yet and wasn't going to start now. Ms Allison Exeter was a small, beautiful woman who had, according to reputation, moved through the hierarchy of the Mayor's office with confidence and a natural leadership that earned her both ready friends and passionate enemies. Even those who disliked her respected her, and no one was ready to go against her lightly.

She was also impatient, rude, and although Jim was sure that her voice was pleasant to others, to his ears it had a rasp that sanded his nerves raw. He couldn't make out whether it was because he didn't like her, or whether his heightened senses could pick up on something that others couldn't, but whatever the reason, he fought a cringe every time she spoke.

"I suppose he'll do," she said bluntly as she looked at him after Simon's introduction. "But I don't like it, and neither will the Mayor." She locked her gaze on Banks, ignoring Jim. "We're used to working with you, Simon, and frankly, Ellison's got a reputation for going his own way. But if you're set on leaving, he's the obvious man to take your place, and he'll learn to deal."

She turned back to Jim, eyeing him up and down with all the intensity of readying a dog for an obedience show, and he gritted his teeth. "Those clothes will have to go, though," she ordered. "He's going to be in the press's headlights now, and they'll shake him like a doll, starting with what he wears."

"I'm sure Jim will adjust," Simon said, his warning glare forcing Jim to bite back the hot words on his tongue. "But they'll be impressed more by results than a suit and tie, and his record shows that he can bring in the money."

She nodded. "True enough." She glanced at Jim. "I'll check in on you tomorrow for a progress report."

"Would you like to make an appointment?" the Sentinel said through his teeth, ignoring Banks' flinty look.

"No," she said, shaking back her short black hair. "I find that that creates a drop in job performance. I'll find you."

 _I can't wait_ , Jim thought, keeping the words from becoming vocal by an enormous effort. He had a feeling, though, given her cool look at him, that she heard them anyway.

Simon waited until the door of the bullpen shut behind her before turning a cold gaze on his detective. "You want to keep a civil tongue in your head," he advised. "She can make or break your career, you know."

Ellison bridled. "What was I supposed to do, be a doormat? That's what she wants, and I'm damned if I'll give it to her."

Banks shook his head. "She's not a perp you have to shake down! We're on the same side here, so save your energy for those who deserve it. She's not easy to deal with, but you won't get her often, and when you do, just remember that she's got her job to do and so do you. Get yours done and she'll back you a hundred percent." He turned back to his almost clean desk and dropped the folder on it. "This is yours now. I'm out of here at noon, so move in then." He fixed his gaze on the detective. "I've given the others assignments for today, gathering information, talking to people in the neighborhood, stuff like that, but tomorrow morning the decisions are all yours. You've got that time to start thinking how you're going to run this case from this office, rather than out in the field. Rafe is acting Lieutenant while you're here; use him." He looked at Ellison for a long moment, then said quietly, "Dismissed."

Jim looked at him, then turned and left, trying not to slam the door on the way out.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ellison pulled into his accustomed parking place at the Legacy House and turned off the truck. The engine fell silent and he sat still for a long moment, letting the quiet of the place seep into him. The house fronting him was big and spacious, and the circular driveway somehow managed to have parking spots for all the cars of its members and still seem uncrowded, which was a minor miracle as far as Jim was concerned. And his spot was always empty, waiting for him. He'd given up pretending that it was just that the others had their own spaces already; he knew it was more than that.

          Pushing open the door, he let the sounds of the place pour in – chirps and cries of the birds, the rustle as a rabbit moved through the bushes a few yards away, the scolding of a squirrel high above him, the crunch of dirt under a coyote's paws as he stalked a low-hanging bird's nest and the ensuing squawk as the mother bird discovered the intruder and immediately set about alerting the entire area to his presence.

          Smiling a little, Jim slid out of the truck, starting toward the House with slow steps. Mounting the steps, his smile faded as he remembered racing up them with Blair in his arms, praying that Maggie and the others had some way of holding off Roger and saving his Guide.[1]

          The thought brought him back, as it always did, to his conversation with Maggie, the precept of this House… _This is your home, too, Jim. You're simply waiting to claim it_.

          Shaking his head, he crossed the porch and pushed open the front door, stepping inside with a lift of heart he couldn't deny as he reached for Blair's heartbeat and found it, the headache that had been building all day falling away. Following the sound up the winding stairs, he automatically located each of the other Legacy members as he climbed. Sean and John were both in the control room, as he privately called it, the room protected by sensors and only available to a House's members. Blair was there, too, but a little removed, which probably meant he was in the second room of the area, together with a stranger whose heartbeat Ellison didn't recognize, although it felt familiar. Probably someone he'd met sometime and didn't remember. CJ, John's wife and a scholar in her own right, was in the library, and Maggie–

          He turned to meet her as she stepped out of her office at the top of the stairs, and she smiled at him, an expression he couldn't help but return. "Hello, Jim," she said warmly. "Glad to see you again; it's been a while."

          "Three days," Jim pointed out dryly. "I was out here then to do some work with John."

          "Yes, you were," Maggie agreed. "Are you here for Blair?"

Ellison shrugged. "His car broke down so it's in the shop. Figured I'd stop by to pick him up."

"That was very generous of you," Maggie commented, leaving out the obvious fact that the Legacy House was very far out of the way for Jim to just 'stop by,' and the knowledge they both shared that any member of the House would have driven Blair home anyway. Not to mention the suite of rooms in the House with Blair's name on it (and Jim's name, too, if it came to that).

"Yeah, well," Jim said uncomfortably, "if someone can let him know I'm here, I'd appreciate it." Not that he couldn't do that himself, through their mental link, but that wasn't a bond he used lightly, and it sure wasn't something he was going to mention in passing, even to Maggie.

Maggie lifted an eyebrow at him, wearing the same look she'd had during their 'conversation' some months before, and he flushed. "You can go find him yourself," she invited, a faint note to her voice that he couldn't identify.

Jim blinked at her, wordless. He knew what that offer meant – somewhere, sometime, they'd imprinted his retinal scan on the control room, and he was as free to enter there as any member of the House. _Any other member of the House_, his mind whispered. He shook it off. "Thanks," he said gruffly, turning to head toward where he knew his Guide was.

"Jim." There was a note in her voice he identified immediately as indicating Legacy business, and he turned back to her with all the attention he would have given Simon.

She turned and led him into her office, and he followed, appreciating the room again as his gaze swept across the tall bookcases covering three walls. Sunlight danced across the thick carpet from the large window siding her desk at the other end of the room, shadows shifting as the trees outside swayed faintly in the breeze. He took a deep breath, appreciating the faint scent of candles burning, and followed her lead as she seated herself at the small table set near the doorway.

Settling into a facing chair, he eyed her expectantly. This wasn't the first time in the last few months she'd told him about a Legacy matter, and he couldn't deny the warmth the act engendered as he listened with all the training and intelligence he could bring to the situation. Several times he was sure he'd been able to offer a viewpoint she hadn't heard before, and she always listened carefully to whatever input he could bring to the table.

She gestured to a newspaper lying on the table, and he glanced over at it, then looked back at her with a frown at its obvious foreign origin. "What about it?" he asked, unable to keep the slight note of curiosity from his voice.

"It's a local paper from Chinatown," Maggie answered soberly. "We saw something in it that suggests that the murders you're investigating may not be completely mundane."

Jim stared at her, biting back the urge to swear. _Damn it, stay out of this! The last thing I need is for the Legacy to get involved in this case._ "Go on," he said curtly, his detective instincts requiring that he get the facts before he dismissed them.

Maggie looked at him, a slight questioning hint to her gaze, but continued steadily. "The article describes what a Chinese shopkeeper saw when the two men died."

Jim frowned. "No witnesses have come forward."

Maggie hiked an eyebrow at him, and he grimaced, his gaze sliding away from hers as he acknowledged the absurdity of the comment. The crime was in Chinatown; of course no one would come forward to the police. He didn't even have an Asian among his detectives.

 _My detectives? Since when have I started to feel like they're mine?_ He shied away from the question and looked back at Maggie. "What did it say?" he asked resignedly, anger, impatience and a fatalistic sense of bad news rolling over him.

          The older woman looked at him, not without sympathy. "That bright light blazed through the car the men were in, blinding the shopkeeper from seeing the inside. The car rocked, the men inside screamed, blood painted the window shield, and when it was done the car went dark and silent."

          Jim pushed back his chair and stood, staring down at her. "That's all?" He strove to keep his voice even, fighting back the sense of truth that had come with her words. This wasn't happening, couldn't be happening, not to this case, _his_ case. Not now. The car they'd found was obviously the scene of a bloody murder, but nothing more; he couldn't let it be anything more.

          Battling with that decision was the knowledge that Maggie wouldn't have told him of the report if she hadn't believed it to have merit, and he'd seen her proven right too many times to doubt her now. Plus the fact that he had already heard the whispers from the CSIs who had been over the crime scene, and they weren't good. No bodies, no murder weapon, no sign of a murder weapon, and if the investigation went the way it sounded like it was going to, they wouldn't even be able to tell him what had killed the two men (if it was two – they hadn't finished checking the blood for sources).

          But it couldn't be metaphysical. He wouldn't _let_ it be metaphysical, wouldn't let it be Legacy business, not this time. Not with the mayor on his back, and Simon gone, and his career on the line. It had to be real this time.

          He stood, turning to the door with quick, brusque movements. "I'll keep it in mind," he said over his shoulder as he exited the room, not looking back. His headache thundered viciously, and this time Blair's heartbeat didn't vanquish it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Sitting in the truck minutes later, Ellison watched Blair exit the house, pausing on the porch to exchange a few parting remarks with someone still inside the House. He grimaced, restraining himself from hitting the horn with an effort. _Blair isn't just an anthropology student any more_ , he reminded himself. _Now he's a full-fledged professor and Legacy member, a professional; I can't expect him to come running to my timetable any more._

The thought did nothing to quiet his angry tension, and neither did the memory of finding Blair just exiting the control room minutes earlier, talking animatedly with CJ. Jim had caught his eye and jerked his head toward the parking lot, then turned on his heel and left, trying not to notice the surprise and yes, hesitation in his Guide's expression at sight of him.

          A few minutes later, Blair climbed into the truck and Jim frowned. His Guide's movements were slower than usual, and Sentinel sight revealed a few small holes burned into his clothes here and there, plus some carefully hidden singed hairs, and when Jim zoomed his sight in he also saw the tiny burns on his partner's arms and neck. "What happened to you?"

          Blair glanced at him as he snapped the seatbelt closed and leaned back. "Hello to you, too, Jim. Have a good day?"

          The Sentinel glared at him, starting the truck with a roar. "You were out doing something, weren't you?"

          "Guess not," the young Legacy member murmured. "Anything I can do to make it better?"

          "How about telling me where you were and what you were doing!"

"What do you mean? I was just talking to–"

          Jim's glare stopped him mid-word and he sighed. "I ran into something I wasn't expecting."

          "You were out doing shaman stuff without backup?" Jim snapped, glaring at him as he backed the car up without looking. "Alone? I thought I told you–"

          "I wasn't alone." Blair's voice was taut, his lips set. "What's with you today, man? I can't say two words without you jumping down my throat."

          "Answer the damned question," Ellison snarled as he swung the truck around, narrowly missing Sean's Toyota.

          Barreling down the driveway, Jim felt the sharp glance from his companion but didn't slow down.

          "Hey, watch it!" the anthropologist said sharply as a coyote leaped across the dirt road in front of them. Jim slammed the car to a halt, hearing the clicks as both his and Blair's seatbelts locked, and the stifled gasp as his friend's body jammed against the belt, no doubt impacting sore muscles. He grimaced and started the car up again, slower this time, halting at the end of the driveway to check the road both ways before pulling out onto it.

          "Maybe I should just get out and walk?" Blair commented, an edge to his voice that Jim didn't often hear. "I might be safer that way."

          Jim's jaw tightened and he cast a hard glance at the younger man. "Funny, Sandburg. I'd like to see you walk home from here."

          Blair blinked at him, then said quietly, "I'm not responsible for what you hear through the link, Jim. My mind is my own, even if you hear it sometimes."

          Ellison frowned over at him, then glanced back at the road. Had he actually heard that remark, or had he, for one brief moment, tapped their bond? It had sounded like spoken words, but Blair wouldn't lie to him, and it wasn't something that he would have expected the anthropologist to actually say to him. "Sorry."

          Blair shrugged. "Not a problem. It happens sometimes, and it's more likely when both of us are feeling the same way." He took a breath, and looked over at Jim. "So why're you so mad today?"

          Ellison's jaw knotted, but he was unable to pull up the anger he'd felt before. Instead, all he felt right now was… _trapped. I feel trapped._

          "It's not important," he answered, not looking away from the road as they neared the outer city limits. "What happened to you?"

          Silence answered his question and after turning onto a busier road that would eventually lead them home, he glanced over at his companion, only to find Blair staring back at him. "It matters to me," his Guide said softly. "Come on, big guy, talk to me." _You don't do that much any more_.

          The quiet sadness of the thought caught Jim deep, and he inhaled and held it for a long moment, unwilling to admit to the younger man that he'd heard it. Looking back at his friend, though, he could tell Blair knew, and sighed. "I'm sorry," he said almost at random, not sure whether he was apologizing for his angry mood this evening, for not talking to his friend, or for catching the thought in the first place. _Or for not being there when I'm supposed to be_.

          "You're busy," Blair said quietly, and Jim sighed again, wondering whether all Sentinels and Guides had had this kind of bond, and how they had dealt with it. Better than he did, he hoped.

          "Probably not," the shaman answered, leaning forward at Jim's resigned glance. "Jim, we're bound, remember? You can block me out, and I can block you out, but it probably isn't natural for Sentinel and Guide to be too far out of touch. And right now we're both busy, and our lives are full, and I can't be there for you as much as I used to be."

          Jim heard, _felt,_ the guilt under the comment and opened his mouth, but Blair rushed on.

          "It's necessary right now," his Guide said calmly, and Jim closed his mouth. "But that doesn't make it easy, on either of us, or natural, either. And when it's not natural, I think that the bond is more likely to be open, sort of like a channel that's trying to even the pressure on each side."

          Jim nodded, staring straight ahead. It didn't feel natural any more to be alone, he admitted, not sure if Blair could hear the thought and for once not really caring. He and Sandburg had been together too long, been through too much, to feel as if separation was natural, and that, he knew, was at least part of the reason he was so angry today. Between Maggie, and the murders, and the PR woman, and Simon, and _his_ detectives (what the hell?), and the Legacy, and Blair being gone, and then being singed… His runaway train of thought stopped dead there, and he turned a fierce glare on Blair. "What the hell were you doing out there alone?"

          His Guide looked at him for a long moment, the understanding in his eyes so deep that Jim almost lost the anger and the drive, but he dragged it back and refused to drop his gaze.

          "I told you," Blair said at last, his voice quiet. "I wasn't alone. John was with me."

          Fury blasted through Jim, intense enough to steal his breath. John? The man Jim had trusted, had worked beside, who he'd talked with, who shared his military background and experiences, who understood parts of him he hadn't shared with anyone in years, _his friend…_ was out there his partner, his _Guide_ …

          "Don't go there!" Blair snapped, the words breaking Jim out of the angry trance he'd fallen into. He slowed, keeping taut control over the truck as he turned onto their home street.

          "Don't go there," Blair repeated, staring at him fiercely. "John can't take your place, and he's the first one to say so. Nothing happened today; I didn't go out looking for something, I was looking over a manuscript John was showing me that mentioned some entity that could have been Roger, and I got sucked into its space for a moment. I ran into its wards and got turned around, and John grabbed me and yanked me back. It was nothing serious, and it would have happened whether you'd been there or not. Don't make it more than it was."

          Ellison pulled into the parking lot for the loft and swung the truck into his accustomed space, killing the motor with an angry flick of his fingers. "Goddamn it, Sandburg–" But he ran out of space and words there, and his voice died.

          _Come on, Jim. It wasn't that big a deal. I'm all right._

          The Sentinel sighed, unable to resist leaning on the presence, the warmth in his mind. _Damn it, Blair._

          A smile flickered warmly between them. _I know, big guy. I know. I promise, I stay as safe as I can without you there._

          Jim heaved a sigh and removed the key from the ignition. "That's what worries me, Chief." He _felt_ the grin that answered him, and couldn't keep his own lips from twitching.

          "Come on, big guy," Blair urged, pushing open the door without looking away from him. "Let's go eat, and you can tell me about your day and what went so wrong with it."

          Jim exited the truck, shaking his head as he watched the anthropologist bounce up the steps to the loft. Trust his Guide to go straight to the heart of the matter, and he followed with a lighter heart than he'd had in a while.

 

[1] See previous story in timeline: "Roger's Calling," in _Sensory Overload #9._


	3. Chapter 3

          Jim halted before the door to the captain's office, glad that at this early hour the bullpen was empty, the night shift already left or out on cases, the day shift not arrived yet. Right now it was that quiet in-between moment of time, and he soaked it up as he inserted the key into the lock and turned it.

          The door opened and he stepped inside, not bothering with the light as his eyes adjusted. He carefully closed the door behind him, then stood and looked around the office. His office.

          He swallowed hard. _His_ office. Simon might be back for a short while, but in all actuality he'd left this part of his life behind when he had passed it to Jim, and they both knew it. Unless the detective screwed up royally, this would be Jim Ellison's office, and the bullpen would be full of _his_ detectives. His stomach clenched, and he stepped further into the room, trying to still its uneasiness with movement.

          It didn't help, and he gritted his teeth as he leaned over to turn on the coffeemaker he'd set up the evening before, watching as the light blinked on and it began to hiss and burble. Turning away from it, he surveyed the rest of the office.

          It was still almost empty, and he grimaced. He'd brought in his own clock and coffeemaker the day before, but that was the only personal touch in the room. The office accoutrements – stapler, tape dispenser, pencil holder, in and out boxes, etc – were all still here, so the room still looked like an office, but it was a bare and sterile office, with no personality to it, and he gritted his teeth against the surge of tension that ran through him.

          This was his career, his future; he should look forward to the day, to working with _his_ detectives on cases, to solving puzzles and problems from a new place, with new challenges.

          That was how Blair had described it for him last night, and he knew the younger man was right, knew that that was how it had worked for him, and he was glad of it. Maybe it just took time to reach that place.

          He moved over to the desk, staring at it for a long moment before seating himself. Now _this_ felt damned strange. He'd never sat behind this desk before, not even when he'd been forced to run the bullpen while Simon was away or wounded or the like. He felt like he was on the wrong side, and couldn't help a furtive feeling that Simon would come walking in to catch him at it and then there'd be hell to pay.

          "Damn it, Ellison, get a grip," he growled at himself, wishing that his stomach would unclench enough for him to enjoy the scent of coffee beginning to waft through the room.

          He hadn't told Blair everything the night before, but he had told him a lot of it. About the case, and Simon leaving him as Acting Captain, and Rafe taking his own job, and the PR woman. What he hadn't told his Guide was how it made him feel to be alone in the bullpen, or how often he thought of the Legacy House, or how uncertain he was of walking into Simon's office and making it his own.

          But he had a feeling that Blair knew all of that anyway.

He also hadn't told the younger man what Maggie had said about the case, and now, staring at the folder lying before him on the desk, he sighed, his lips twisting.

Maggie wouldn't lie to him. If she said there was something metaphysical about this case, then there was, and that was all there was to it. But that 'something metaphysical' could get his people killed, and he couldn't even tell them about it.

He crossed his arms, leaning forward to rest them on the desk, looking at the folder. _How did Simon do it?_ he wondered, for the first time. _How did he juggle all of us, the caseload, and deal with a Sentinel and a Guide at the same time? And in particular, how did he deal with us throwing metaphysical things at him on a regular basis? And still get the job done and keep the powers that be off his ass –and ours, too?_ He grimaced, shaking his head. _And how do I do it, without getting my people killed?_

He was still pondering that question fifteen minutes later when he pushed his office door open, holding the coffee cup that Blair had given him the night before, now warm with coffee, and meeting the startled eyes of his detectives as they looked up from their desks.

"Hey, Captain," Rafe said easily, smiling at him. "Didn't realize you were in, since your office was dark."

Jim shied away from examining his own reaction to the title and Rafe's ease in using it, instead hiking an eyebrow as he glanced behind him, seeing the sunlight beginning to slide in through the window of the otherwise darkened room. He bit back a sigh, trying not to let the flush he felt slide up his cheeks. Glancing back into the bullpen, he caught Kane's eyes on him, dark with the understanding that the young black detective had gained through working with him and Blair across the last few years and sighed again.[1]

H came through the doors, balancing a napkin with donuts on it and a cup of coffee. "Hey, Captain," H said cheerfully as he sat down across from Kane, sliding one of the donuts to the younger man in a move so reminiscent of Jim's with Blair that the Sentinel's heart clenched. "Sorry about being late," H continued, his words snatching Ellison back from the memories, "I was talking with the coroner about her findings about that utility worker."

Jim nodded, moving into the room and seating himself on his own now empty desk, facing the other men. "Let's stick with Jim for now," he said quietly, his gaze flicking to the door as Joel entered, the big man's smile warm as their eyes met. "What've you got?" he continued, glancing back to the detectives.

H shook his head, sobering. "Not much. The coroner's at a dead end. She hasn't been able to determine the weapon used on the repairman; says that there's nothing in the wounds to show what struck him, although right now she's leaning tentatively toward an animal."

"Without anything left in the wounds?" Kane asked, frowning. "That seems a little… odd." His gaze flicked to Jim, who held it for a moment, then looked back at H as the man continued.

"You got that right," the older detective said sourly. "Tox screen came back negative for anything that mattered, too."

"What does that mean?" Rafe asked, and Jim closed his mouth on the question, nodding.

H grimaced. "It means that he was high on pot earlier in the day, but that's it. A little alcohol, so he might have had a drink the night before, but nothing else." He shook his head at Jim's glance. "They still haven't found the younger man, so right now, the older guy's all we've got to go on."

Jim shifted his gaze to Rafe, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach as the evidence added up. "What about the CSIs' findings?"

"They say that the angles of the wounds are 'inconclusive.'" Rafe snorted. "Means they can't figure it out. I got a look at their report, and it says that the victim 'appears to have been struck multiple times from different angles,' which may mean multiple different attackers, but the strength of the blows remained constant for most of them, so that's confusing the issue. And they can't figure out the weapon because none of the wounds match with anything they've seen – it looks like knives, but the evidence isn't holding up. And there's no trace of any thing or anyone on his body."

Ellison nodded. "And the blood in the car they found in the garage?"

H shook his head. "We're on their list to process, but it's not happening yet. _But_ —" he emphasized, interrupting Jim's curse, "I did manage to get them to take DNA samples from the car and I ran them. One hit. James 'Jack' Rinnell. Convicted on armed robbery at least once, suspected of two others, and he has a whole host of lesser crimes. He's out on parole."

Rafe frowned, then started riffling through a stack of folders. Jim eyed him, but let it go, wondering if the young Lieutenant was thinking the same thing he was. He glanced at Kane. "Any news on the gangs in that area?"

The detective shook his head. "I talked with the head of the task force on gangs down there, and he says no, it's all quiet, nothing but the usual activity, and nothing to hint at anything like this."

 _And there won't be, either. No one's responsible for this but whatever Maggie suspected. Damn it._ Jim cut off the thought as Rafe looked up, a predatory smile on his face.

"Got it," he said in satisfaction. He closed the folder he'd been examining and looked up at Jim. "There was a robbery in that area the night before we found the car. The shopkeeper's niece called it in, said there were two men, both armed, who broke into her uncle's shop at around ten p.m. They took what they wanted and left. What do you want to bet that at least one of them was one of our vics in the car?"

Jim smiled at him. _He's going to be a good Lt._ "I'm not taking that bet. Good work." He glanced around at the rest of them, his senses picking up Rafe's pleased flush. "All of you." He took a breath, considering for a moment, then said, "Okay. Here's how we'll do it." He looked at Rafe. "Have the shopkeeper and his niece picked up by the uniforms that patrol down there and bring them in to look through the mug books." He glanced at Kane and H, including them in the assignment. "And get their stories of that night, including descriptions of the other guy; maybe we can ID him, too. Then start checking the backgrounds of those two utility workers; maybe they have something in their pasts that set them up for murder, or connects them to the robbers." He grimaced at their dubious looks. "I doubt it, too, but right now, we haven't got anything else to go on." He looked back at Rafe. "I'll go stand on the CSIs, try to get our stuff moved up the line, but it wouldn't hurt if you drop by later, too."

Rafe grinned. "Sure thing, Cap. Uh, Jim," he amended when Ellison looked at him. "Maybe we should drop down to that area and beat the bushes, find a few witnesses. Someone might've seen something."

Alarm bells went off in Jim's mind. _Oh, no. No. Absolutely not. If this thing is taking on non-Chinese in that area, it might read harassment as an attack, and I don't want my people killed._ He nailed Rafe with a sour gaze. "You speak Chinese?"

The young Lieutenant blinked. "Uh, no."

"Neither do I," Jim said flatly. "Anyone else here?"

The other two detectives shook their heads.

"Didn't think so," Ellison grunted. "That's a… closed society, to quote Sandburg, and there's no way they're going to talk with us. Maybe, if we had someone here who had an in in that community," he looked around, but saw only negatives, "we might have a chance, but without that…" he shook his head. "We're better off beating the bushes we can make a dint in up here."

A hint of perfume wafted over him and he sneezed. "I'll go talk to–" Allison Exeter pushed through the bullpen doors and he cut off the comment, standing up as she started across the room toward him. "Dismissed."

The detectives glanced around, then there was a bustle as everyone broke off to go to their tasks.

 

[1] See previous story in timeline: "Truth is the Only Reality," in _Sensory Overload #5_.


	4. Chapter 4

Jim tried to relax his fingers, slowly unclenching their tight grip around the steering wheel of the truck.

_Just relax, Jim. Breathe. That's all that matters, just breathe. Let the information around you flow into you, but don't focus on any of it. You know what's going on, but you don't have to concentrate on it. And breathe._

The Sentinel soaked in his Guide's words, the remembered exercise relaxing him as nothing else could. Not for the first time, he thanked his absent Guide for all the experiments, all the tests, all the attempts to see what worked and what didn't. He had protested at the time, and still did, but the results had proven Blair right again and again, giving Jim a repertoire of activities and drills that he could call on when needed. Not that he would tell Sandburg that, of course.

Calmer now, he leaned back, watching traffic around him with an alert eye and considered his meeting with Allison Exeter.

It hadn't gone well.

Jim snorted. Now that was an understatement of epic proportions. It had gone very, very badly. By the end of it, he was sure that the detectives in the bullpen could hear every word both of them were shouting. She hadn't liked the fact that, when you boiled it all down, they had nothing. Just hints and veiled connections, no weapons and no perps. She hadn't liked that at all.

Of course, neither did he, but he knew why they didn't.

And she'd really wanted his detectives out in Chinatown searching for suspects, witnesses, anything at all they could pull out of the woodwork.

Jim had fought that tooth and nail, knowing that to do that was to sign his peoples' death warrants. For the first time he was thankful that the crimes had occurred in Chinatown, and that the place had a reputation and a proven record of not cooperating with the cops. He'd been able to use that to their advantage, and it had kept his people safe.

This time.

He braked the car at a light, staring across the street and thinking. He'd finally agreed to go down to the area himself, telling her that he had a personal contact there that he could find and talk to, and she had finally calmed down and left, leaving a wake of perfume in her wake that he was sure would pollute his office for hours ( _his office?… Never mind)_.

After that he'd left, nailing CSI's ass to the wall to speed up their posting on that damn list, then come back to find Rafe and check on the progress of the case so far, and to tell him he was going down to have a talk with a personal contact, which fact made the young Lieutenant look at him a little oddly, since he hadn't mentioned it in the briefing.

Not surprisingly, since he didn't have one.

He sighed, thumping the wheel in frustration. All he had was the knowledge that whatever they were dealing with was metaphysical in origin, and, given that all victims so far found (or not found) were white, that the entity or force or whatever it was probably didn't like non-Chinese. Since the thieves had endangered a Chinese, it didn't take much to wonder if the repairmen had as well. But that was really jumping the gun, and he couldn't afford to assume that. Not that it helped much if he was right, since it didn't give him a hint of how to proceed to get rid of it.

And now here he was, readying himself to walk into a set of underground tunnels where one man had died horribly and one had disappeared, tunnels he didn't know and had no map for, tunnels likely haunted by some entity that didn't like non-Chinese, and who might reasonably be expected to view his exploration of said tunnels as an invasion. And he was doing it alone. He knew what Blair would say to that, and he'd be right.

 _Go to Maggie. Go to the Legacy_.

He rebelled, his lips set in a straight line as the light turned green and he gunned the accelerator, crossing the intersection with squealing brakes. This was _his_ case, and he'd be damned if he went with his hat in his hand to the Legacy, like he couldn't handle his first case ever as captain!

 _Acting Captain_ , the inner voice reminded him. _And it's not as if this is a typical case, after all. You just lucked out on this one. Bad luck._

          Jim snorted as he turned into Chinatown, slowing down to look for street signs. Okay, Acting Captain, but still. He had screwed up with Maggie, and he couldn't expect her to overlook it and just go on as if nothing had happened. The Legacy had given him all the help he could reasonably expect by letting him know that the case wasn't what it seemed, and if that knowledge enabled him to save his peoples' lives by how he ran the investigation, he'd be in their debt. But to ask more of them was too much. They had their own affairs, and the hunt for ways to take down Roger was still ongoing, and they probably had other projects as well that he didn't know about.

          _And what about Blair?_

          Jim winced away from that question, unable to find an answer to it in the swirling chaos of his own thoughts.

          _If this wasn't a police matter, what would you do?_

          He turned left onto a side street, seeing the flutter of crime tape halfway down the block, and slipped the truck into a parking slot, setting the emergency brake as he considered the question. _I'd be hunting it down with them, following up leads with Blair, maybe John, bringing evidence back to the house for Sean and CJ to analyze, artifacts for Maggie to examine, check if she Saw something._

          He turned the key, extracting it as the engine died, then looked up at a sudden movement. John stood in front of the truck, a small satchel swung over his shoulder, smiling at him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "How'd you know I was here?" Ellison asked gruffly as he and John moved down the street toward the crime scene which marked the entrance to the tunnels where the older utility worker had been found.

          "Maggie told me," John said cheerfully. "She also told me to tell you that, and I quote, 'a whole is made up of parts, and each of the parts carries the whole with him, whether they will it so or not.'" He glanced sideways at Jim. "Hope that makes sense."

          Jim was silent. He got the message; Legacy business was still Legacy business, and he was still a part of it.

          Deep within him, a sense of self that he had relied upon for almost all of his adult life, that part of him that had carried him through the military, the jungles in Peru, and his career as a detective, began to tighten and twist, fraying just a little.

          "So what gives with the case?" John asked, and Ellison jumped, then nodded, ignoring the keen look the priest gave him as he launched into an explanation.

At the end of it, John nodded, then shrugged his small pack off as they halted at the railing set up around the open manhole leading down to the nether parts below the street. Police tape stretched around the structure, fluttering slightly in the breeze. John dug into his satchel, extracting a flashlight and a folded piece of paper. Handing the flashlight to Jim, who took it, bemused at the forethought that had obviously gone into a mission that he himself hadn't planned, the priest unfolded the paper, resting it against the railing.

Ellison bent to study it, recognizing it immediately as a map of the tunnels beneath the city. A shiver went down his spine, and he glanced at John, then away.

"It is kind of eerie, isn't it?" John asked without looking up, his finger tracing the major tunnel.

Jim sighed. "Do all of you people do this kind of thing?"

John glanced up at him, smiling. "You mean, do Legacy members weird people out, I take it?"

Ellison shrugged.

John's grin widened. "Yeah, we do, pretty much. Means you fit right in." He looked back at the map, ignoring Jim's incoherent protest. "So where on this map did the police find the body?"

The detective shoved his startled confusion at the earlier comment away, shifting his focus to the map. "Right at the bottom of the ladder," he answered, reaching out to tap the small black circle marking the manhole before them.

"So the police probably searched the area around it, I take it."

Jim shrugged. "More or less. Probably less than more, actually. The company sent some of its people here to check out why the two repairmen didn't check in on schedule and weren't answering their radios, and they found the body at the foot of the ladder. They determined he was dead and then came back to their truck and called the police. Uniforms came and marked off the area, and searched some, but came up empty. So everyone backed off to see what the CSIs came up with first."

John nodded. "But they have their list and you had to wait your turn." He grinned at Ellison's glare. "More or less. But that means that the police got in a ways, at least, if not far enough."

"They found where he'd dragged himself from," Jim agreed, leaning over to peer down the hole, "but nothing to indicate what killed him or how. And no sign of the younger man, dead or alive." His sight narrowed, the blackness lightening until he could see the chalked outline of the body at the foot of the ladder. He blinked out of it, then glanced at John as he straightened, catching the unabashedly curious look as the priest watched him.

"Sorry," the man offered, not sounding sorry at all. "Just wondering how it all works, that's all."

Jim shrugged, shoving the flashlight into his pocket, then stepped over the three-foot railing and resting one foot on the first step of the ladder. "Doesn't bother me." He lifted the other leg and swung over the rail, grasping the bars with both hands as he prepared to lower himself into the hole.

"Glad to hear it," John commented, swinging lithely over the barrier to stand beside him. "Since I figure that going down there means we're depending on those senses of yours, and I'd like to know a little about them before I'm relying on them for my life."

Ellison blinked at him, then started down the ladder. "Guess that makes sense. But there's not much to tell."

"I think Blair might disagree with you on that," John's voice echoed from above him as the priest followed his lead.

Jim snorted, managing to avoid stepping on the chalked design of the body as he reached the ground. "Sure he would. Sandburg can talk about my senses from now until doomsday."

John shrugged, pausing to look down along the beam of his flashlight, then stepping wide off the ladder to dodge the design. "He's your Guide. That's his job."

"Yeah," Ellison said softly, unable to keep the wondering affection completely out of his voice. Usually he wouldn't have worried about someone catching it, but he had a feeling that this man might be different, and the knowing look John gave him confirmed it. He fought back a blush, turning to stare down the dark tunnel, his eyes automatically shifting to Sentinel mode as he looked one way, then another. Deep silence insulated him from the noise of the streets above, wrapping around him like a soft, solid cloak, comforting and warm, and he relaxed into it, his small headache, a leftover from his shouting fight with Allison, finally dwindling away into nothingness.

The flashlight beam didn't sweep down the corridor, and he glanced back at John in surprise.

"Which way, do you think?" the older man asked, his light focused downward toward his feet.

Jim looked at him for a long moment, then nodded left. "This way, I think." He elaborated at the question in John's glance. "The blood trail leads that way, and the dust isn't as disturbed in the other direction." He turned left, shifting to look back at the priest as the man followed, his beam still focused downward. "You can shine the light down there, if you want."

"It doesn't bother you?"

Jim shrugged. "I've learned how to look around it so I don't lose too much sensitivity. And as dark as it is down here the light doesn't cut much anyway."

"That's true enough," John said as he flicked his beam down the passageway, but the Sentinel could hear the smile in his voice. "Just let me know if the light gets to be a problem, though."

"Sure," Ellison said as he dropped back into step with the priest as the man started down the corridor, bemused a little by the courtesy, one that no one but Blair had ever offered him. "Thanks."

"No problem," John said easily, taking care to walk a little ways apart from the blood trail that marked the middle of the tunnel. "So tell me something. How do you feel about being a Sentinel now?" He saw Jim's confused glance at him and shrugged. "Hey, Ellison, the way I see it, you probably hated your senses when they first rose up, and I'd bet that you told Blair that you just wanted to 'get rid' of them in the beginning."

Jim eyed him for a long moment, impressed by the insight, finally nodding. "Yeah, pretty much."

"And now?" The question was quiet enough that a non-Sentinel wouldn't have heard the deadly serious tone behind the words, but Jim did, and glanced at the priest thoughtfully.

"It's over," he said shortly. "Why do you care about how I felt then, or now?"

John nodded, his gaze flicking over to the detective. "Why's it my business, you mean?" He looked steadily at the man as he paced forward, the tunnel around them showing no signs of turning yet. "Because you're a member of my House; you're my teammate." He rode over Jim's incoherent protest, cutting across it mid-word. "And how you feel about the gift that makes you a Sentinel is vitally important to your performance, your sanity and your soul. And your sanity and soul are my job to care about." He shot a serious look at Ellison, waiting until the other man's gaze dropped before continuing. "So I'll ask again: how do you feel about the gift that makes you a Sentinel?"

Jim struggled against the urge to tell the man to go to hell. He wasn't used to having this kind of conversation with anyone but Blair, and somewhere deep inside he felt like this was a betrayal of that relationship. But he also knew what it was like to be a team player, and the Legacy definitely fell into that category. "I'm Captain of Major Crimes," he said, trying to be brusque and not sure he was succeeding. "I'm not a member of the Legacy."

The unspoken comment, _So it's not your business, is it?_ reverberated between them, but Jim could almost hear the priest's reply, _Not yet_ , and he wasn't sure whether the man was referring to the Sentinel's joining the Legacy or his sanity and soul being John's business. He pushed the uncomfortable thoughts aside with an effort, forcing his mind to return to the tunnels and the killer they were tracking, and looked ahead, his gaze sharpening as he peered through the darkness.

"What's that?" he asked just before the flashlight illuminated a large pile of rocks and dirt.

"Looks like a cave-in," John replied, flicking the beam past the pile to the wall behind it and examining it in a brief sweep. "Probably fell during that blasting they were doing with the renovation down here; lots of new construction going on."

Jim nodded, then cocked his head, studying one section of wall. He strode forward, the flashlight's beam shifting to follow him as he navigated over the rockfall and halted before the wall. Standing still, he focused, Sentinel-deep, his gaze tracing the contours of rock. John's footsteps sounded behind him, and the Sentinel reached out to run his fingers across the section, feeling the tension and uneven pressure that held the rocks together. He carefully slid his fingers around the edges of one rock, then, locking his grip on the stone, tugged, hard.

"You sure that's a good–"

The rock grated free of the wall, other stones falling as well, but when the dust cleared Jim was glad to see that he had judged correctly – there was now a small hole in the tunnel wall, but no other rocks fell and he felt the tension in the wall stabilize, at least for now. He leaned forward to peer through the hole, the black darkness inside vanishing as his eyes adjusted.

Pulling back, he reached inside, bringing out several artifacts, including a vase, a bowl, and a small figurine, all with what both men recognized as Chinese writing inscribed on them.

"Is that it?" John asked, kneeling to survey the items as Jim placed the last one on the floor.

Ellison withdrew his head from the hole and shrugged. "Looks like the rest were smashed when this wall collapsed."

"Hmm," the priest answered, leaning forward as something glittered in the flashlight beam. He started to pick up pieces of what Jim recognized had to be another artifact, but this one was shattered. The detective knelt, joining the older man in his task, until they had a pile of pieces between them.

"Looks like a pot of some kind," Ellison offered, fingering a curved piece that resembled the soup bowls he'd broken in his kitchen across the years.

"Close," John muttered abstractedly, staring at the pieces. "Actually, I think it's an urn." He leaned forward and scrabbled in the dirt pile, withdrawing what was obviously a carefully chosen handful and staring at it.

"What?" Jim asked, absently running his fingers over the smoothness of the piece he held.

"Ashes," the other man answered soberly. Pulling out his handkerchief, he placed the handful in it and wrapped it up, inserting it back in his pocket and then dusting his hands off.

"Ashes?" the Sentinel asked, a little frustrated that something so obviously important to John meant nothing to him. "What about them?"

The priest looked at him, unsmiling. "'Ashes to ashes, dust to dust'," he recited. "This was someone's funeral urn."

Jim dropped the shard he held. "Funeral urn?"

John looked across at him, his lips twitching. "Yeah, a funeral urn. My guess would be that the rockfall opened up a burial site, and this was the result. Whether the urn's breakage happened during that, or the repairmen did it, I can't say." He started to gather up the artifacts, including the pile of broken pottery, and placed them into his pack, then stood, hefting it carefully.

Ellison rose with him, carefully rubbing his hands on his pants and making a mental note to wash them that afternoon. "Since someone or something seems to have killed or disappeared those repairmen, and in a very gruesome way, my bet would be that at least one of the workers found the urn and broke it."

John nodded. "That's the way I see it, too." He nodded at the blood trail, which curved past the rockpile and down the corridor. "Shall we go?"

Jim looked down the passageway and grimaced. "I doubt we'll find anything else, but I'd like to see the scene of the crime, at least."

"Lead on, MacDuff," the priest intoned, following him around the cave-in and back down the passageway.

Ellison shot him a glare, but John took it in his stride and grinned at him. The detective's lips twitched, and he hastily turned away, striding down the corridor.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 _Nothing_ , Jim reflected glumly as he turned into the police parking garage and located the spot marked "Captain – Major Crimes," pulling into it and turning off the car. _At least, nothing I can use here_. He looked around himself with frustration, a helpless uncertainty twisting through him.

John had taken the artifacts to the Legacy House for research, promising to call Jim with the results. But no matter what, the Sentinel knew it wouldn't be the kind of thing he could discuss with his detectives, and he certainly couldn't tell Allison Exeter about it.

_Which leaves me where, exactly?_

_Nowhere, going fast_. He sighed, wondering again just how Simon had pulled this kind of thing off on a regular basis.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"But you know, Jim, Simon had it a lot easier," Joel observed twenty minutes later from his seat across the desk from Ellison, who had poked his head into the big man's office and asked him for a meeting, closing the door once he had entered and bringing him up to date on the case as thoroughly as he would have Banks, including the metaphysical aspects. He skimmed over how he knew what was happening, and aside from the thoughtful way the older man watched him, Joel didn't question his facts.

Stretched out in the chair that he had always used in this office, Jim frowned at him. "What do you mean? It seemed he was always dealing with something around us, either with my senses, or something weird. And he always, well, almost always," he amended as Joel cocked an eyebrow at him, "got it done without putting us in hot water or compromising the case."

"And you know what his biggest asset was?" the other man questioned softly, continuing when Jim shrugged. "You."

Ellison blinked at him. "I was the problem, half the time – me and Blair both."

It was Joel's turn to shrug. "Yeah, you brought it to his attention. And what did he do then?"

"Did what captains do," the Sentinel said blankly. "Blair and I worked the case, brought it–"

"Exactly," the burly captain said, cutting him off. "He assigned it to you."

"It was my case."

Joel rolled his eyes. "Jim, think about it. He could assign it to you, his best detective, and it looked like he was doing something about it. Whatever it was, he could always say to the higher ups that you were on it, and so you had a free hand, pretty much, to deal with the situation as you saw fit, as long as you brought in the goods, stopped the killings, apprehended the bad guys, etc. And since you had a stellar reputation of doing just that, he could protect you, and Blair, _and_ get the job done, even when your methods were a little unorthodox. The water might've gotten a little hot sometimes, but it was still do-able."

He leaned forward, stabbing a finger at the stunned Sentinel. "You don't have that option. You're a captain now, alright," he said in response to Ellison's half-spoken reaction, "an acting captain. But that means that your place is in this office, for the most part, and it's your job to see the bigger picture, coordinate your men, assign cases, delegate responsibility. You're not expected to take to the field to solve a case, and so when you do, everyone notices and everyone talks about it.

Joel halted, took a breath, then continued, looking evenly at the younger man. "But now you have a problem. Now you have a case where there's no one who can work on it _but_ you, and you _can't_ do it."

The words hung in the still office for a long moment, until Jim broke his frozen stance, leaning over and putting his face in his hands. "You're right," he said, the words muffled. "God help me, you're right." He raised his head, looking at the older man. "What am I going to do, Joel?"

It was the first time since his early years in the military that he could remember asking that question of anyone, and he looked away, hating the feelings of helplessness twisting through him. Somewhere deep inside, he could feel something fraying, and he swallowed, wondering what he would do when it finally snapped. Unbidden, the sweet, delicate scent of the flowers that edged the gardens of the Legacy House came back to him, and he pushed away a brief vision of the patio there, cool in the sun-drenched shadows of evening.

"…believe it."

Jim jerked himself out of the reverie. "Sorry, Joel," he said, trying not to flush. "What was that?"

The bomb captain shot him a keen glance, but let it go. "I said that I think you should tell your detectives what's going on; I think they'll believe it from you."

Ellison stared at him for a long moment. "What?"

Joel simply looked at him, and the Sentinel shook his head, violently. "No! Damn it, all they'll think is that I've gone mad, and that's no way to inspire confidence in me."

"Spoken like a true captain," the bigger man said dryly. "But that's my best advice, Jim. They know you, they trust you, and they _are_ detectives, you know. Chances are most of them already know something has been odd with you and Blair for a long time; they've been given enough clues across the years, even if they don't know how to put them together." He leaned back in his chair and fixed Ellison with a steady look. "Think about it."

Ellison grimaced, but levered himself up, absently aware of the rustle in the bullpen as the day shift readied themselves to leave, the night shift drifting in. "I'll keep it in mind," he said shortly, shaking his head as he turned to leave. Damn it, he had hoped for help of some sort here, the kind that Joel had always managed to give before. He hadn't expected to be handled some sort of Herculean task of self-exposure, for crying out loud!

He headed out, pausing at his own office to gather up his stuff, unable to restrain the leap of heart as he thought of picking Blair up at the Legacy House. He could catch his breath there, and thinking was always easier with Blair's heartbeat in his ears.


	5. Chapter 5

          _Of course_ , Jim mused as he tried to meet his Guide's angry gaze, _I forgot about this part_.

          "What were you thinking, man?" Blair stormed, throwing his arms wide before resting his hands on his hips and pinning a fierce glare on the Sentinel. "'No going it alone, Sandburg.' That's what you said to me, remember? She could have killed you down there, and you wouldn't've even seen her coming! You could've called me, could've asked me, and I would've been there with you in a heartbeat! We're a team, damn it! Or did you forget that?"

The Legacy driveway was utterly quiet around them, even the rustles of small animals and birds stilled by the younger man's wrath, and Jim had the strong impression that everyone in the house was carefully ignoring the loud argument outside its walls. None of it gave him any ideas how to turn aside his justifiably angry Guide. But the younger man's last words caught him on the raw and he snapped back.

"No, Sandburg, I haven't forgotten, but maybe you have! I haven't been missing in action, after all!"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished he could take them back. Damn it, he knew exactly how much Blair wanted to be with him, how much he'd sacrificed to be with him in the years of their partnership, and if he was absent more now, it wasn't because he didn't care, and Jim knew it. "I'm sorry, Chief," he started, but the shaman shook his head, a stricken look in his eyes that made the detective cringe.

"It's all right, man," he said lowly. "You're right; I haven't been there for you, and you've got every right to feel like I walked out on you. I'll rearrange my schedule, set up some substitutes, call some friends, postpone–"

"Sandburg!" Jim finally managed to interrupt the torrent, grabbing his shoulders and rushing on before his Guide could wall himself into a corner. "Stop it," he said forcefully, staring down into the blue eyes that met his. "Stop it right now. I shouldn't have said that, I didn't _mean_ that, and don't go off half-cocked because of it. I'm the one who went out to face a homicidal spirit alone, and I knew when I did it that I was just as wrong as you are when I yell at you for doing the same thing. I know why you're not there, and it's okay."

He let his grip gentle on the younger man's shoulders, unable to halt the calm grounding that spread through him at the touch. Taking a deep breath, he started to lift his hands, but Blair's hands closed over them, holding him still. Silence resonated between them, deep, vital, soothing, and Jim felt himself relax as he had not in days, perhaps weeks. He could feel his friend's muscles loosening, too, and looking up at him, Blair smiled, just a little.

The moment stretched on, until finally Ellison reluctantly pulled himself out of the depths. "I guess I better go in," he muttered. "Talk to John, see what he found out."

"Guess you had," Blair agreed, not moving.

Jim looked down at him and was caught by the stillness again, lost in it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 _What just happened out there?_ Jim wondered as he mounted the staircase toward the second floor of the house more than a few minutes later.

 _Hey, big guy, it's simple, really. We're Sentinel and Guide_.

Jim inhaled as he reached the end of the stairs, turning toward the control room. He wasn't too surprised to find that Blair, seated downstairs on the patio, had caught his thought, even though he hadn't consciously used the link, but his answer didn't really explain that much. _But… we never did… that, before._

A mental shrug was his reply, and he had a fleeting question as to just how he could tell that was what it was when he couldn't see it, but the query slipped away as his partner replied.

_I think that we've been spending so much time apart right now, and both of us are going through so much change and stress, that it's kind of like neutralizing the charge. That make sense?_

Ellison felt his lips curl. _As much as any of your explanations ever do, Chief. It'll do for me_. Under the thought he wondered at how easy and natural the conversation seemed, and shook his head at himself. It wasn't that long ago that he'd said that the link and all the kind of stuff that went with it was shaman's stuff, Blair's stuff, and that he was a Sentinel, just a Sentinel, and didn't want anything to do with it. But that time seemed very long ago now.

 _I'm glad it feels natural, Jim. It's supposed to. This is a natural, perhaps even instinctive, ability between a Sentinel and his Guide, so it makes sense that it should get easier_.

There was a slight wistfulness to the thought that caught the older man's notice, and he frowned, shaking his head a little. _Chief?_

There was no answer, and he was suddenly aware of Blair's sidewise attempt to slide – that was the only word he could find to describe the feeling – out of the conversation. _Come on, Sandburg, I'm not going to let it go, so you might as well tell me._

Blair huffed, and Jim smiled, amused that the mental equivalent of the expression felt/sounded so similar to the real thing.

_Don't you need to talk to John?_

_He can wait. Out with it._

The shaman sighed. _I just miss you, that's all. I want using the link to be a natural extension of who and what we are, as natural as breathing to us, and that's not possible right now. That's all. Nothing big. Now go talk to John, get your report. There's bad guys, or at least a bad ghost, to catch._

Ellison hesitated, then let the conversation go, feeling Blair's presence fade from being "right beside" him to a simple sense of "thereness" somewhere in the back of his mind.

He glanced around, surprised to find himself leaning on the rail circling the stairway. John stood silently beside him, staring down the winding steps to the floor below, his relaxed stance a mirror of the Sentinel's, but he shifted position when Jim raised his head, turning to look at him.

The acting captain stared at him, stunned that he could have let someone that close without sensing them, and John smiled.

"If you and Blair are through, I can tell you what we've found out about the stuff we found."

Ellison blinked at him, then flushed. "How'd you know?"

John shrugged. "Blair is one of my team, and his metaphysical talents are part of my business. Besides," he added, his smile widening, "you were so obviously having a conversation it was hard to miss."

Jim's gaze dropped, and he swallowed. "You have something for me?"

"Some," the priest said, going with the change of subject. "CJ and I scanned in the artifacts we found, starting on the translation of the writing. So far we've got three men's names on the stuff you hauled out from behind the wall." He looked soberly at the Sentinel. "The urn had a woman's name on it." He shrugged, continuing, "CJ's set up a search running on the names; hopefully we'll find out what they mean and who they were soon. She'll let us know."

The detective pondered the information, then looked back at the other man. "The urn was the broken pot, then."

John nodded, and Ellison grimaced. "That mean she's the ghost who's killing everyone, right?"

"My best guess," the priest agreed, the smile fading in his eyes. "Hopefully we'll find more on her, so we'll know why she's doing this." He eyed Jim with an unreadable look. "Once we know that, we'll be a lot closer to knowing how to stop her from killing again."

Jim opened his mouth to agree, then closed it, caught by the word. _We_. Not _you_ or _yours_ , but _we_.

John nodded at him, then straightened. "I'll keep you informed," he said, pushing away from the railing. Turning, he strode toward the control room, and the Sentinel watched the bright, thin lines of light catch him in their microscopic mesh, then vanish as the priest stepped through the wall without pausing. _I could do that, too_. The thought was quick, a flash of recognition and gone.

Pushing it all aside, Jim turned toward the stairs, swinging round the corner and down the steps, reaching toward his Guide. _You ready, Chief?_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"I have a favor to ask," Blair said quietly as Jim drove them toward home.

The Sentinel shot him a quick glance, than glanced back at the road, darkening as the sun slid close to the horizon. "Sure, Sandburg, you know that."

The shaman shook his head. "It's not that easy." He hesitated, then went on. "We want to set up a scouting expedition to Roger's area."

Ellison chewed his inner lip, fighting his automatic impulse to tell his friend that Roger was off limits. "And?"

Blair studied him. "And I want you there. As backup, guardian, my Sentinel. Walking into his place is nerve-wracking; I could use the support."

Jim gritted his teeth, memories sending shivers down his back.[1] "I'll be there." He drove onward for a moment, then glanced at his partner. "What are we doing? And who'll be there?"

"Just us and Maggie," Blair said easily. "Like I said, it's just a scouting trip." He cocked his head at Ellison. "You remember Craig Arthen?"

The Sentinel glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "I should, Chief. Considering he could have killed you."[2]

Blair rolled his eyes. "Man, you have a one-track mind, you know that? He _saved_ my life, too, remember? Called me back by getting you to say how many ways you loved–"

"Sandburg!"

"Well, he did, big guy," the anthropologist pointed out reasonably. "And if he had killed me, he'd've just been doing his job, and you know it. Besides, I'd rather've been dead than be that entity's focus, and I think you'll agree with that."

Jim looked away. The statement came far too close to a truth he didn't want to think about. "So I take it Craig's a Legacy member, and his job is keeping track of Roger and other things like him."

"Something like that," Blair agreed. "He's given me all the info he had, and some stuff I can use to lay the path to his domain. Once that's done, I'm hoping to find a way in to talk to the souls he has imprisoned there."

The detective mulled that over, then nodded. "But you won't be facing Roger, or talking to his prisoners this time, just building that path."

The young shaman nodded. "I'll be outside Roger's area, and he probably won't even notice I'm there." He glanced at Jim and grinned. "Hey, man, that's why I want you there. You're my Blessed Protector; Roger won't come near me if you're there, even if I have really bad luck and run into him."

Ellison fell into the mood and glared at him. "Just you make damned sure you don't run into him, Sandburg; meeting Roger once was enough for your Blessed Protector." Blair's grin widened, and Jim bared his teeth at him. "When is this scouting trip?"

"6 p.m. tomorrow evening," the anthropologist said cheerfully, waving at the street they were on. "You're almost there, big guy."

Jim glanced around, then slowed to a stop outside the well-lit building and pulled into a parking place, absently marveling how darkness had fallen without him noticing. Around him Chinatown hummed, but this part was quieter, although Ellison knew that when the renovation was done, it too would be full of people enjoying the early evening.

"Thanks, man!" Blair smiled at him, then swung open the door and slid out, holding a bulging file folder under one arm. "This won't take a minute!"

Ellison waved at him, then settled back into his seat as the anthropologist bounced over to the entrance, his energetic enthusiasm making the Sentinel smile as he watched the younger man key in the lock combination on the door and pull it open, vanishing inside with a quick walk.

Not so young any more, Jim mused with surprise, absently keeping track of the anthropologist's movements inside the building as he twisted his way through the corridors. Blair was, what, in his early thirties now? He was a proper doctor, teaching at the university, working with colleagues at the Oran Institute, and a full-time member of the Legacy. He even had graduate students that he advised now, and Jim knew how seriously he took that responsibility, checking their work and keeping in touch with them as they progressed through their studies. One of them was working on the renovation, which brought Blair down here on occasion, like tonight, when he'd asked Jim to stop here on the way home so he could drop off something. And then there was the paper he was co-writing with someone in one of the South American Houses, situated in Peru, as Jim remembered. Something about how indigenous cultures in that area used their belief structures to guard themselves against intrusions of the modern world, including beliefs about Sentinels and Guides.

He had certainly come a long way from the doctoral student that Jim remembered years before, but he still had all the bounce and zest of that time, and Ellison hoped he never outgrew it.

In the building, Blair paused, and the Sentinel heard his knock ring hollow on wood. A door opened, and he rapidly tuned out the ensuing conversation as it grew increasingly anthro-technical, a word he had secretly coined years before.

 _About that being older thing_ , Jim mused, _a little more maturity about the house rules would be nice, particularly the ones about the bathroom, dirty clothes, wet towels, and hot water in the early morning_ …

The detective shook his head at himself, smiling. _Like that's ever going to happen. I'll be picking up his dirty clothes from now until–_

The scream was high and shrill, echoing off the nearby walls and filling the almost-finished wide sidewalk in front of the truck like some kind of high-density flood. He jerked upright, bolting from the vehicle in one practiced move, then halted, tilting his head to track the direction of the sound. Absently he noticed the stares his abrupt movements were receiving from the few pedestrians nearby, but he didn't have any time to wonder about them as the scream drilled through the air again.

He winced, fighting the urge to put his fingers in his ears as the sound reached a crescendo, echoes bouncing from all sides.

"Easy, man, turn down the dials." Blair's hand was warm on his arm, his voice the steady, calm one Jim had heard so many times. His heartbeat was steady in Jim's ears, and the Sentinel relaxed into the well-known rhythm.

"Come on, turn it down," Blair urged softly. "Not off, just down enough to track the sound. Think of it like a piece of rope that you just cut the end off of."

Ellison took a deep breath as the sound diminished, finally trailing off into a whisper. He boosted the dials a little, not wanting to lose the trace.

"That's right." His Guide's tone was soft, and Jim spared a second to wonder how he always knew what to say and when to say it. He felt a thrust of laughter from Blair, and a quick thought, arrow-swift through the link.

 _I'm good, big guy, not perfect. Just like you_.

Blair's tone gave none of the inner conversation away, though. "Okay, now think of following that rope to its source, let it draw you, even after the sound stops."

Okay, he could do that.

The scream died away into a whimpering moan, then died altogether, but the rope held, and the Sentinel followed it off to the left, absently aware that Blair looked back once to click the keys and lock the truck, even though the younger man never lost his touch on Jim's arm.

Stepping up onto the sidewalk, Ellison shouldered aside a pedestrian, noting the look the man gave himself and Blair. Still focused on the rope, he shrugged off his Guide's touch and instead set his hand on the younger man's back, feeling his friend's heartbeat reverberate through his fingers.

"It must be close," Blair whispered as they crossed another street. "That scream was too loud to be far away. Although," he added, "I don't think anyone else heard it but us." They were moving farther into the renovation area, and foot traffic, although it had slowed, was still noticeable.

Both men jerked as a wail echoed around them, and light suddenly blazed off to their left. They spun, then halted, staring, not registering the screams and shouts behind them.

Three bodies, streaked with blood and obvious wounds, hung from a scaffold, swinging slightly. An Asian woman drifted several feet above the structure, young and beautiful and dressed in voluminous white veils. She glowed, radiating a cold, white light that forced Jim to squint. She saw them looking at her, and lifting her head, wailed again, her face contorted, although Ellison wasn't sure whether her expression was of rage or sorrow. Then she vanished, and the light went with her, leaving only the yellow glow of streetlights to illumine the grisly scene.

The bodies fell to the ground, the ropes that had held them vanishing, and the resulting cries and gasps caught Jim's attention, forcing him to glance over his shoulder. The realization that there was a rapidly growing crowd behind them made Ellison scowl, and Blair twisted to look as well. "Oh boy," he muttered. "They heard that, though. And saw it, too."

Sirens sounded, rapidly growing closer, and Jim stepped forward to kneel beside the bodies, ignoring the gasps and mutters his move elicited from the crowd, and deliberately turning the dials far down as the smell of blood and decay and death welled up.

"Are they?" Blair asked, pacing forward to stand beside him, staring back at the crowd.

Jim sat back on his heels and shook his head. "Yeah, they're dead, and yeah, they're our missing vics."

The shaman glanced down at the bodies, then away, and Ellison heard him swallow. "Oh, man."

"Don’t look, Chief," the detective said softly, standing as police cars swung into the street, scattering the crowd and slamming to a halt bare feet from the two of them.

"Wasn't planning on it," Blair replied lowly as two police officers leaped from the car, guns drawn and pointed at them. "You mean every cop in this city doesn't know us on sight?" he asked Jim as he raised his hands in response to the fierce demand.

"Must be new," Ellison said dryly as he too lifted his hands, then added as the officers approached. "I'm Acting Captain James Ellison, Major Crimes. My badge is in my pocket, and I'm going to reach in and get it–"

"Jim!" Another officer, tall and spare and with a ready smile, pushed his way through the crowd, grinning as he approached the two of them. "Might've known you'd be on the scene. Howdy, Blair." He nodded to the anthropologist, then glanced over at the two younger officers, who were looking uncertainly at him. "It's alright, guys, Jim and Blair are with us, not to worry. You'll see them around a lot."

He turned back to them as the two holstered their guns and moved away, starting the process of securing the scene. "Heard you made Captain, Jim – congratulations!"

"Yeah, well, that's Acting Captain, Henry, not the real thing," Ellison said uncomfortably, fighting back the stab of panic at the man's ready acceptance of his position.

"Real enough," the man replied with a smile. "You'll be good at it, we all know that. It's where you've been heading for a long time, straight up the ladder, just the way it works."

 _'Just once I'd like someone who just assumes that my path is the one I thought it was all my life – climb the ladder, Detective to Lieutenant to Captain, 'that's the way it is, the way it's supposed to be.' '_ As if in a dream, Jim's past thoughts echoed in his head, snatched fresh from that seemingly long ago day when Simon had told him he was leaving, and he hunched his shoulders against the shiver that trailed down his spine.

Blair's comment from years before rang through his head. _Be careful what you wish for, Jim; you may just get it._

For one moment, the babble of the crowd and the growing number of cops swelled around him, the lights strobing red and blue and white, brighter and brighter, the smell of blood and decay suddenly overwhelming, and he fought not to sway.

Blair's grip was suddenly hard on his arm, the nails digging in, and the small jolt of pain jerked Jim back from the threshold he'd almost crossed. "Thanks, Henry," his Guide was saying brightly. "But, hey, give Jim some time to adjust to the notion. You don't become a captain overnight, after all."

"True enough!" Henry laughed, clouting Jim on the shoulder. The Sentinel shuddered, pain streaking through him at the blow, and Blair's fingers tightened still more.

"But I think he'll adjust just fine," Henry said with a smile.

"Probably," Blair agreed, hiding the clutch of fear in his heart with the ease of long practice. "Uh, I think someone wants you," he said, nodding over the officer's shoulder to a group of men gathered around a car. "I saw them looking over here."

Henry rolled his eyes. "Penalty of being the oldest; you get to tell everyone else what to do. I'll be back, Jim," he said over his shoulder as he turned to leave. "Need your description of what went down here."

Blair barely waited until the man's back was turned before dragging Jim over to the shadow of a nearby house, removing them a little from the hustle and bustle. "Come on, Jim," he said lowly, his hand still tight around his friend's wrist. "Listen to me here, focus on my voice, just mine. Hear my heartbeat, grounding you. Do you hear my heartbeat, Jim?"

"I hear it," Ellison said tonelessly, a distant tone to his voice that made the skin on the back of Blair's neck tighten.

"Good, good," he said, fighting back his reaction to his Sentinel's tone. "You can hear my voice and my heartbeat, and that's all. Do you hear me, Jim?"

"Yes."

"All right, good. Now the police lights are behind you, so I just want you to stare into the darkness around us, let your eyes relax, no straining for Sentinel sight, all you see is normal darkness. The flashes don't bother you any more. What do you see, Jim?"

"Darkness."

Blair licked his lips, frowning. There was a lost tone to his friend's voice that worried him, but he forced himself to focus on one problem at a time.

"Do you see the tree we're standing under, the wall next to us?"

Jim blinked around himself, then nodded. "Yes."

"Do you see me?"

Ellison stared at him, then nodded. "Yes."

"Good. Good." Blair jerked in a quick breath, then continued. "All right, you don't smell the bodies any more, just the grass under our feet, the tree next to us. And me, my scent. But that's all, nothing strong, just normal scents, normal smells, okay?"

Jim nodded, a spark in his eyes that made Blair smile, sure they were now on the right track.

"And," he finished, relaxing the fingers he had wrapped around his friend's wrist, "all you feel is my hand on your arm, my touch on your skin. The dial is set to normal, and that's how all the dials are set, to normal, okay? Do you hear me, Jim?"

The Sentinel stared down at him, then blinked and took a deep breath. "I hear you, Chief."

Blair loosed the breath he'd been holding, his shoulders relaxing. "Are you okay?"

Jim glanced away, but not before the shaman saw the uncertainty in his eyes. "I'm fine."

His Guide studied him for a long moment, then asked carefully, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Ellison shook his head violently. "No."

"You know, big guy–"

"We've got trouble."

Blair turned to see a small woman bearing down on them, and looked up at Jim. "This your PR hag?"

The detective looked down at him, startlement rapidly turning to amusement in his eyes. "You been reading my mind again, Sandburg? I'm sure I never called her that in front of you."

Blair grinned. "Hey, man, I can't help it if you share stuff without knowing it." He knew immediately it was the wrong thing to say, as Jim's eyes went distant, his expression stony. "Jim, I–"

"And just what the hell is going on here, Ellison?"

The shaman immediately knew what his partner had meant about Allison Exeter's voice, although he also had a sense that it was only because he was bound to the Sentinel that he could hear the rasp that buzzed across his nerves like a dentist's drill.

"…and I find you here, in the middle of it. Who are you?" She turned on Blair, who jumped.

"I'm–"

"He's my partner." Jim's voice left no room for argument, but it didn't stop her.

"Captains don't have partners," she pointed out acidly, then looked at Blair. "Which means that you leave now."

Blair swallowed dryly at the tidal wave of hot fury, mingled with fear and uncertainty that swamped him down the link and then was gone, along with all the other sense of his friend. He winced, and was sure he saw the faint echo of his own move as Jim responded to his pain.

"He stays."

Never in all his life with Jim, not in one of the many crises or life-struggles that they had shared, had the anthropologist ever heard the white-hot rage that splintered the words, and he drew a breath, caught in the realization that Jim would end his career right here, in a blaze of glory and pain, if Blair didn't step in and stop it. And no matter what decision his friend ultimately made about his career, Blair knew he didn't want it to end this way.

"You know, Jim," he said, interrupting the glares met and matched across an unbridgeable chasm, "I really do have some stuff to do at home, and if you don't need me, I could really use the time."

He could _feel_ the sense of betrayal that raced through Jim, the link cracking open, and held his ground with difficulty as the Sentinel looked at him, disappointment raw in his gaze. Blair turned from that look, seeing instead the triumph glinting in the woman's eyes, and he couldn't help the narrow-eyed glare he turned on her, meeting her stare for stare before he moved, stepping away from them both. But he had the satisfaction of watching her blink in surprise at his confrontation, and could count that as something of a win, even as he forced himself on toward the police line.

"You won't need him any more," he heard the woman say, a faint satisfaction to her voice.

The bond between himself and Jim slammed shut with such force that Blair couldn't hide the cringe that went through him, and he swallowed as he ducked under the police tape, for the first time in years feeling as if he didn't have a place on the other side of it, with Jim.

 

[1] See previous story in timeline: "Roger's Calling," in _Sensory Overload #9_.

[2] See previous story in timeline: "Crack in a Box," in _Sensory Overload #8_.


	6. Chapter 6

          Pain, anger, betrayal, confusion, fear all crackled through Jim as he watched Blair bend under the police tape, and he saw several officers slant uneasy glances at him as his partner left.

          "It's for the best," Allison said briskly. "Captains don't have partners, and this was long overdue."

          "Get off my crime scene." Jim didn't know what she saw in his eyes when she looked at him, but evidently it was enough to convince her not to argue, and without a word she turned to walk toward the parking lot.

Ellison didn't watch her leave, not daring to allow himself that much time to consider what he wanted to do or say to her. "Henry!" he called, motioning the other man over to him. "You need my description," he said shortly, and at the officer's nod he started into it.

Several hours later he had taken all the reports, talked to all the people he needed to, seen the CSIs get a good start on the scene, watched the bodies removed, and in general filled his time so completely he hadn't had any time left to feel or think or do anything he shouldn't have as a captain of Major Crimes.

Which meant that when he finally ducked under the tape himself and started down the street to where he'd left the truck it all hit him at once, an avalanche of feelings and thoughts that wasn't helped in the slightest by the sight of John, sitting easily on the hood of his blue Toyota and obviously waiting for him.

"Want a ride home?" John asked easily as the Sentinel approached.

Jim stopped and stared at him. "Why are you here?"

The priest shrugged, sliding off the car and rubbing his hands off on his pants. "Blair said you might need a ride." He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket and pressed a tab to open the doors, gesturing Jim toward the vehicle.

Ellison fought down the surge of anger that went through him at the realization that Blair had taken the truck. _Well, of course he did, he hardly would have walked home_ , he chided himself, but the anger remained, sullen and thick in his throat.

"I can take care of myself," he found himself answering, looking away from John and toward the police cars that were even now flicking on their headlights and preparing to leave.

"Nothing wrong with accepting a ride from a friend," John pointed out quietly, and Jim blinked as a black feline shadow slipped out of nowhere to circle the priest, rubbing against his legs before vanishing either into or under the car.

"All right," he agreed absently, surprise at his spirit guide's unusual presence allowing him to sidestep the anger for a moment, and he stepped forward as John smiled and opened the passenger door for him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"You want to talk about it?"

John's question was quiet and calm, but Jim's anger leaped, and he bit back a bitter exclamation, softening it into an abrupt question. "Blair tell you to say that?" he asked.

The priest cast him a thoughtful glance, his hands steady on the wheel. "Should he have?"

Ellison turned away to stare out the window, noting absently how few lights were visible, even at the relatively early hour of eleven fifteen. "Never mind."

The silence was easy and undemanding, and Jim fought against relaxing into it, then stiffened. "This isn't the way back to the loft. Where're you taking me?"

"I thought you could use the quiet of the House," John answered, his gaze still on the road, and try as he might, the ex-detective couldn't read anything in the tone but friendly concern, even as he leveled a suspicious glare on the older man.

"Why?" he said bluntly.

The priest glanced at him, then back at the road as he turned into the long driveway that led to the house. "Just what I said. Seems like it's been a rough night, and the House is a lot more peaceful, especially for a Sentinel, than the loft would be, even if it is in a quiet neighborhood."

Jim shook his head. "Not that why. Why should you care?"

John shrugged without looking at him, slowing to park in his accustomed slot. "You're my friend and my teammate. That's reason enough."

Fury, confusion, and fear arced through Jim, and he jerked his door open. "I'm not your teammate, damn it, and I'm not a member of the Legacy!" He slid out of the car, not glancing back to see the surprised look he knew he'd find on John's face, and strode off into the darkness, his vision quickly sharpening as Sentinel sight kicked in.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

It was several hours later, and Jim sat on a ridge that overlooked the city, his feet firmly set against the boulder that was his seat. Lights twinkled below him, spanning the valley, and he let his eyes sweep across the panorama, appreciating the size of the city – _his_ city – for the first time since he'd come into his enhanced senses. He'd never really seen it like this, stretched out below him, distant enough so that he could easily block the noise of its streets while at the same time appreciating its size.

He sighed, letting himself look at his feelings for the first time since Blair had walked away. He was angry, and confused, and yes, hurt, and… and yes, scared.

 _Why scared_? he asked himself, choosing the deepest emotion first.

 _Because… because I'm losing him. He's going away, and we won't be a team any more, and he'll be gone._ Loneliness swamped him, emptiness pooling in his guts, in his life, and he closed his eyes, shutting out the city – _his_ city – and, pulling up his knees, rested his crossed arms on them, pillowing his head there.

_I'm Captain of Major Crimes._

The statement hung there, staring at him, flat and empty.

_But I'm a Sentinel! And he's my Guide!_

_I'm Captain of Major Crimes_.

_He's leaving!_

_He's not leaving,_ a saner part of him corrected. _He's being kicked out. There's no room for a partner to a Captain. Captains don't have partners._

_He walked out on me when I needed him! I backed him up, in front of her, and he walked away._

_And a good thing he did, too, or your job would be toast by now._

_I stood up for him, and he walked away._

_And if you were fired, who'd protect your men then?_

He cringed, unable to argue that truth, but acknowledging it made the deeper dilemma stronger. _I'm a Sentinel. He's my Guide! We're partners, together._

 _I'm Captain of Major Crimes. Captains don't have partners_.

Jim straightened, pushing the statements down, out of sight, out of mind. He had a job to do, and he couldn't do it stuck in the middle of an argument that didn't have answers. He had a killer to catch and stop, one way or the other, and the fact that she was a ghost was irrelevant.

And with that he slid off the boulder, landing lithely on the leafy forest floor, and headed toward the House and his bedroom there, determinedly not thinking about the unclaimed status that allowed him to use it for this, the first time.


	7. Chapter 7

It was quiet.

Jim lay on his back, drowsily watching the leaf shadows dance across the wall, echoes of morning outlined by sunlight. Birdsong was loud in his ears, and downstairs he could hear Blair's voice. Without thinking about it he reached for the familiar heartbeat, curling into the space between beats for a long set of moments.

It was rare that he could wake like this, no horns or alarm bells or sirens, just sunlight and morning and him, with Blair's heartbeat and voice a secure anchor as he woke into the day.

He rolled his head over to stare at the digital clock set on the nightstand, blinking at the 8:37 reading. Memories of the night before rolled over him, and he rolled away from the clock, closing his eyes as all the anger and confusion and pain welled up, just as vivid as they had been the night before when he'd confronted his dilemma.

 _No_ , he thought deliberately. _Nothing's changed from then to now. I'm still a Captain in Major Crimes, and he's still Guide to my Sentinel. And Captains don't have partners._

He took a breath and sat up, forcing the thoughts back into the small box he'd pushed them into the night before and slamming it shut. _And I still have a perp to catch._

Pushing himself up, he swung off the bed and stood, staring around him at the room he hadn't taken the time to look over the night before, when he'd entered the house in darkness and made his way to the room he knew was his own. He could see fine without light, but colors and context were still far easier to view in daylight than at night, even for him.

The room was large and set in warm but muted colors, earth shades, he realized. An off-white carpet stretched out to the light tan walls, a geometric design touched with blue and green set into it, and a bedspread that was the exact shade of the sky of a clear summer's day lay across the bed. A frieze was etched around the walls, just below the ceiling, also done in tan and blue and green, with touches of dark red running through it. The design seemed familiar, as if he'd seen Blair use it before.

The bed was queen-size, large enough for even Jim to stretch out on, with a nightstand beside it, the digital clock and another small lamp placed on it. A richly polished wooden desk was set against the wall under a large window, a small lamp set on its corner. A recliner sat a few feet removed from the desk, backed by a bookcase, with a small table beside it. A tall light peered over the chair's back, and a door set into the wall close by opened, he knew, into a bathroom complete with shower.

The room was restful, and he couldn't help the way his muscles, tensed with the returning thoughts of the day, relaxed as he looked around the space.

His room. His.

Blair's room was equally large, he knew, even though he'd only seen it once months before. And both their bedrooms opened onto a sitting room with comfortable chairs and a couch, all focused on the entertainment center that had been given center stage there, although there were bookshelves on the walls and a CD player as well.

They'd been given their own suite, Blair and he, with the obvious intention of making them comfortable in their own space and able to withdraw there when needed, or exit into the larger house and join the rest of the Legacy team for meals or common activities, any time of the day.

And he couldn't deny that the place drew him, and the people.

 _I'm Captain of Major Crimes_. _Captains don't have partners._

_I'm a Sentinel. And he's my Guide._

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the recurring refrain, and started toward the bathroom, hoping to clear his mind with a hot shower.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It was 9:45 when Jim swung the truck into his parking slot, and he killed the engine and sat for a long moment, settling into the moment as he considered the information CJ had told him that morning at breakfast.

The men whose names were inscribed on the artifacts had been lynched, and the woman whose name was on the broken urn had been about to marry one of them. She committed suicide when he died, thus becoming what CJ had named a "Fox Spirit," although Jim wasn't sure why. But the breaking of her urn had obviously disturbed what uneasy rest she had achieved, and now she was set to wreak havoc on all she saw as enemies or invaders of her peoples' space or lives. CJ was now researching methods the Legacy had used to pacify or destroy Fox Spirits in the past, and would get back to him when she had something.

Ellison sighed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. In spite of the fact that he felt as if he was making progress on the case, he still had nothing he could take to his detectives and set them to run on. And that was frustrating in the extreme. He grimaced, staring through the windshield at the sign that reserved this parking spot for him.

          It was hard to believe that yesterday morning had been the first day he'd parked here as Captain. So much had happened since then that it felt like days had passed, but in reality, it had only been slightly over twenty-four hours since he'd walked into the bullpen and unlocked his office for the first time. And now… He looked over at the door leading into the building, opening, he knew, to the elevator and his day, and swallowed hard as his stomach lurched, tension cording across his shoulders.

_I don't want to go in there._

          The bald feeling halted him, shocked into stillness. Not go to work? The job he'd held for years now, committed to, defended, and done damn well?

          _But that's not the job you have now, is it?_

Jim's jaw ground shut, and he jerked open the door and slid out, slamming it behind him before heading for the elevator.

And he knew it was going to be bad the moment he walked in the office to find Allison waiting outside his door, glaring daggers at his people. He saw her before she saw him, and for one long moment he had to fight the temptation to simply leave and go back to the Legacy House, where he knew he could get more work done than he was going to get done here. Hell, if push came to shove, he could gather up Blair and head off into Chinatown and try to find the Fox Spirit. Maybe she'd listen to a shaman. He felt the wall between himself and his friend quiver, almost going down, and quickly shored it up, unwilling to open doors for his partner just yet.

"And just where have you been?" she snarled when she saw him, not bothering to lower her voice.

Holding his neutral look with an effort and trying to turn down the dials at the same time, Jim stepped past her and unlocked his office, leading the way inside and shutting the door after her.

"Well?"

Ellison raised an eyebrow at her and seated himself behind the desk, for the first time appreciating the distance it automatically put between himself and opponents. "I haven't had a chance yet to confer with my people," he pointed out, working to keep his tone level. "When that's done, I'll let you know where we stand in the investigation."

Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned over the desk, holding his gaze. "I don't think you have your priorities straight, Ellison, and I will so inform the mayor. I don't know where you've been this morning, and frankly, I don't care, but it better have been something more worthwhile than trying to make up with your so-called partner." She straightened and turned to the door, halting there to glance back at him. "I'll be back this afternoon, Ellison, and you'd better have something for me then."

And she was gone, the door closing with a sharp click behind her, before the fury her words had ignited could force Jim to throw something at her. As it was, it took long moments before he was calm enough to open the door to the bullpen, and he couldn't summon a smile to meet those of his detectives.

Jim made his way over to his own still-empty desk and sat down on it. "Okay, people, tell me what we've got."

Kane and H both swiveled their chairs to face him, while Rafe held up a hand, then finished his conversation and thumbed the cell off, smiling grimly. "That was CSI," he said with satisfaction. "They finished running the DNA match, and two of the bodies match the blood in the car, so they're definitely our two vics there."

"And the shopkeeper and his niece ID'd Rinnell as one of the thieves who held them up," Kane put in. "The other one's a match to his younger brother, who's done this kind of thing with him a couple of times now."

          "DNA match indicates close kinship on the blood in the car, too," Rafe added. "Looks like whatever it was nailed them just after they robbed the shopkeeper, then took the bodies, somehow."

Ellison nodded. "Was the third body last night the younger repairman?"

H nodded. "It sure was. Looks like whoever killed him did a nastier job on him than on the older guy, too." He shifted uneasily. "Last night, a few of the witnesses say they saw what looked like a ghost drop the bodies in the square, but most of them just saw a bright light and the bodies hanging there before they fell to the ground."

"It's got that community pretty riled up," Kane put in quietly. "And it was big enough that there's a front page article on the whole thing in today's paper, too, with speculations about ghosts and everything."

"Yeah," Rafe said sourly. "The press was here early to try and catch you for an interview, but we chased them off."

Jim rolled his eyes. _Great, just great. I need this like a hole in the head_. "Appreciate that." He looked at Rafe. "CSI come up with anything on the weapon used?"

"Nope," Rafe said in disgust. "Just that it's the same thing as killed the younger utility worker, but they're no closer to figuring it out. Nothing left in the wounds, they say, and the injuries still don't match any known weapon." He shook his head. "Maybe it _is_ a ghost."

Ellison's stomach clenched, and he snorted. "Not likely." He turned toward the other two detectives, ignoring Kane's thoughtful stare. "Any news on commonalities across the utility workers and the Rinnell brothers?"

"Not a thing," H said succinctly. "No connections at all except that they were all in Chinatown."

"Maybe they all met something they shouldn't have," Kane offered, a note in his voice that forced Jim to grit his teeth.

H shrugged. "Well, whatever it was, it doesn't like non-Chinese."

 _I don't believe this! Are my detectives actually discussing a ghost as an option here?_ Ellison rubbed the bridge of his nose, narrowing his eyes at Kane, who met his gaze straightforwardly.

 _They are detectives, you know_. Joel's words ran through the Sentinel's head, and he grimaced.

"You know, Captain, if there's something going on here, we need to know about it," Rafe said quietly. "If someone is running around out there acting like a 'mighty protector' for Chinatown, they might see that renovation as a threat and we need to catch them before they go major."

Jim sighed, frustrated. The explanation was close enough to the truth that he was tempted to take it, but Kane's knowing gaze told him that it would just be a delaying tactic, and in the end, it might backfire big if his men thought he didn't trust them. And if one of them was hurt or killed down in Chinatown because they didn't know… No, that didn't bear thinking about. "My office," he said grimly, forcing himself to his feet. "I'll be there in a moment." He headed toward Joel's office, hearing the scrape of chairs as the men he'd left behind stood to follow his order.

Five minutes later he was striding back toward his office, Joel following, looking bemused. Jim led the way into his office, hearing the other captain shut the door behind him, and wishing the sound didn't echo so loudly, although he could just be imagining it. For a moment, he wished vividly that Blair was here, then shook it off. _I can do this alone, I don't need his hand to hold._

 _Maybe not_ , his saner side admitted. _But it doesn't hurt, either, and he's a lot better at telling our story than I am._

But Blair wasn't there, and Jim couldn't wait for him, even assuming the anthropologist could get away from his own schedule. Joel would have to be enough.

And with that Ellison sat down in his chair, eying the men lined up facing him. Kane looked expectant, as well he might, while the other two detectives looked faintly confused but open. Joel smiled at Jim. "'The time has come to talk of many things,'" he quoted, his smile widening at the looks Rafe and H gave him. "Blair said that to me once," he added, sobering. "And it's true." He shifted his glance to the Sentinel. "How do you want to handle this?"

Jim sighed. "No idea. I never expected to do this, figured I'd take it to my grave with only you and Simon knowing."

Kane looked away, and Ellison smiled faintly. "And Kane."

Rafe and H glanced at the young African-American in surprise, then looked back at Jim.

"What's going on, Captain?" Rafe asked, frowning.

Jim grimaced. "I have something that impacts the case, but in order to explain it you need to know something about me."

"And Blair," Joel added.

Rafe and H exchanged glances, nodding once to each other.

"Sir," Rafe said carefully, "we know."

Ellison shook his head. "I'm sure you've picked up a lot of clues, and you know that there's something strange about us, but–"

"No, sir," Rafe interrupted firmly, "we know. That you're a Sentinel, I mean."

Jim opened his mouth, then closed it. "What?"

The word was close to a whisper, and both Rafe and H grinned at each other. Kane was staring at them in open amazement, and Joel looked startled.

"Now, _that_ ," H said smugly, "is what I call good detective work."

Ellison cleared his throat. "How long have you known?"

"Since a little after Lash," Rafe said simply. "I overheard Carolyn complaining about how you'd corrupted the sample of the duck pond, and how you'd seemed to know more about it than you possibly could. That and how you found Blair before Lash killed him got my curiosity really hyped."

"And since I was his partner," H added, "he told me about it. We'd both noticed weird things before then, but that whole thing set us off, so we went looking."

"And since Blair was the obvious thing to check out, we did," Rafe continued. "We did his background, then looked at his research."

"You read his research?" Jim didn't know whether to be embarrassed, angry or impressed.

Rafe shrugged. "Well, we tried. We read parts of his published articles, and even though some of it was hard to follow it was pretty clear why he was so interested in you."

"We weren't sure why you were interested in _him_ ," H added, "or why you let him hang around, but after a while we figured that there was more to him than met the eye, too, but we could never figure out what, since he never wrote any articles we could find that focused on himself."

Ellison looked at Joel, who looked back at him for a long moment. "Have I told you that you've got really good detectives working for you?" the big black man asked.

Jim shook his head. "Yeah, you told me, but I had no idea they were _this_ good."

"Neither did I," Joel agreed. "I think I envy you."

The ex-Ranger smiled. "Don't blame you." He shifted his gaze back to the Rafe and H, who were both looking somewhat smug. "And you kept all of this to yourselves?"

They both shrugged. "Wasn't our business, really," H said. "If you wanted us to know, you'd tell us, and until then, we ignored it."

Ellison shook his head. "Well, I'm impressed. Does anyone else in the unit know?"

"Not that we know of," Rafe said. "But we never tried to find out, either."

"I don't think they do," Kane cut in. "I've heard the others talk about Jim and Blair, but no one ever said anything to let on they knew why they were different."

"That's good," Rafe said with relief, shifting his gaze to Jim. "Sir, while I appreciate you telling us this, what does your being a Sentinel have to do with the case? I mean, we would have trusted you to tell us a lot before you'd have to tell us this, and you must've known that."

Ellison looked at him for a long moment, warmth settling in his chest. He smiled. "Yeah, I knew that," he answered. "But what we've got here doesn't have to do with my being a Sentinel, exactly, but with the other part of the equation."

"Blair," H said softly.

Jim nodded, pausing to consider his next words. He couldn't tell them about the Legacy and didn't want to, but how to tell them the information he had without revealing its source… Ah, now _that_ was the question.

"Blair is my Guide," he said, deciding on an indirect path. "Every Sentinel had a partner in ancient times, someone to watch his back, pull him out of zone-outs, and keep him walking the straight and narrow."

"Zone-outs," Rafe mused. "Those the times when you're lost and can't get back to the real world?" He grinned at Jim's raised eyebrows. "I keep up on Blair's writings; it makes for pretty cool reading even if I can't understand it all."

"Sounds like you do a pretty good job," Ellison allowed. "Yeah, that's a zone-out."

H shivered. "Brrr. Don't think I'd want to deal with those; the descriptions sound pretty bad."

"They're not fun," Jim agreed dryly. "But a Guide does more than just work with his Sentinel, or at least Blair does. He's also a shaman." He stopped to check the effect of his words.

Kane, of course, was unsurprised, since he had worked with them both before,[1] while Rafe and H both blinked at him.

"Sir?" Rafe questioned.

Jim sighed. "Take it from me, all right? Blair works against big, bad things that do a hell of a lot worse than go bump in the night."

"You got that right," Joel rumbled, the sober words drawing the glances of all three younger detectives. "And you'd better pray you don't ever get pulled into it," he admonished them, his gaze lingering on Kane. "'Course, it's too late for you," he added. Kane looked away, and Ellison smiled grimly.

"You can all share stories afterwards," he ordered. "The important thing right now is that in the course of doing weird stuff, we've come up with sources that we use from time to time."

Rafe traded glances with H and spoke. "Let me guess. Our 'Chinatown protector' really _is_ a ghost."

Jim sighed. "Yeah. She is."

"And she really doesn't like non-Chinese in her area of town," H added, the words not quite a question.

Ellison shook his head. "No, she doesn't."

"That's why you didn't want us down there," Kane said quietly. "Just in case."

"That's right," the ex-Ranger answered. "She's likely to interpret our interference down there as an attack on her people, and there's nothing we have that can stand against her."

"And no one down there's going to talk with us anyway," Joel added. "Especially about a ghost."

"So what're we doing?" Rafe asked, fixing a gimlet eye on Jim. "You're not taking her on yourself, are you, sir?"

Ellison resisted the urge to squirm. "No," he said firmly, watching Rafe relax. "I'm working with our sources to fix the problem."

"These sources wouldn't happen to include yourself and Blair, would they?" Kane asked, and Jim stared at him, narrow-eyed. Damn but he sometimes wished that even his youngest detectives weren't as good as they obviously were. Of course, previous experience with Jim and Blair doing just that didn't help.

"I think what Jim is trying to say," Joel rumbled, "is that this time it's not just the two of them." He studied the younger man for a moment, then added, "And I think that's all you're likely to get."

Kane looked a little shamefaced and glanced away, and Rafe grinned, then looked back at the Sentinel. "Sir, there's just one thing. I don't think you're going to be able to keep us out of Chinatown. Not from what I've been hearing on the grapevine about Ms Eckert and the mayor. And honestly," he added, "that would be our next step; we'd go down there, interview everyone we could to see if anyone saw anything on the night the Rinnells got killed, and we'd check out any enemies the Rinnells have who might've gone after them.

"But if you _do_ have to send us down there," Kane pointed out at Jim's grimace, "at least we're warned, and we'll be careful."

Ellison gritted his teeth against the anger that ran through him, liquid and hot, forcing it back down. _I should be out there, not them; I'm the Sentinel!_

_You're the Captain. Captains delegate._

"What's your advice?" he asked, looking at Rafe.

"Send us down there," Rafe said without hesitating. "We'll be careful, won't interview hard, won't push, and we definitely won't go into anyplace that's not public, since she's only attacked people when they were alone, away from other people."

Jim was silent for a long moment, wrestling with the idea, then nodded. "Go. But watch your backs, and don't go anywhere alone." He shifted his gaze to Rafe. "That means you stay here. H and Kane can go, they're partners, but not you, you'd be alone down there."

The younger man grimaced, then nodded. "All right." He glanced at the other two. "You just be careful, though," he warned. "And go really easy on people."

"Good enough for me," Kane said, smiling. H nodded, and the two rose and pushed out of the office. Rafe saluted Jim with a finger, nodded to Joel, and followed them out.

Joel studied the Sentinel, then smiled at him. "I told you they'd believe you. Not as hard as you thought, was it?"

Ellison shook his head, bemused. "No. But I never thought anyone ever guessed. Sandburg is going to be embarrassed."

The big man chuckled. "Maybe so. But at least it's over now, and you don't have to worry about hiding it any more."

Jim blinked at him. "Guess not," he said numbly.

Joel's smile widened, and he stood, moving to the door and pushing it open. "Well, at least you have time now to relax and get all that paperwork done," he said, grinning as the younger man looked down at his desk and blinked at the several stacks of paper that sat there. "Welcome to the joys of captaincy, Ellison."

Jim's eyes narrowed into a glare, and Joel closed the door on him, his soft chortle echoing in the Sentinel's ears as he looked back at the folders lying in front of him.

 

[1] See previous story in timeline: "Truth is the Only Reality," in _Sensory Overload 5_.


	8. Chapter 8

Three hours and one stack of paper later, Jim understood completely why Simon had always been annoyed and brusque – the damn paperwork was worse than the monotony of any stakeout he'd ever had to sit out, and he still had three stacks to go.

He'd taken some time earlier to go down and check with CSI about his case – results: nothing – and then got caught up on the rape case – another rape, but his men had a suspect now, and were hoping to nail the bastard by tomorrow. And then, with nothing else to do, he'd come back to his office, forcing himself to wade into his least-liked activity, reminding himself that the sooner he got it done, the sooner he'd be able to do something, anything else.

At this rate, his whole afternoon would be wasted with this!

 _This is why Captains have offices_ , the small voice reminded him. _So they can delegate, see the larger picture, and meet higher-ups in peace._

 _What's peaceful about it?_ he snarled back, plucking yet another form from a file at random and scanning it. It was another acquisitions form and he bit back a groan when he saw H's name on it.

For a moment, his thoughts skittered sidewise, wondering how they were doing down in Chinatown. But he would have heard if something bad had happened, and the last time he'd seen Rafe, the young Lieutenant had said they were fine, just frustrated with the people, which was no more than he had expected.

He looked back at the form, sighing as he turned it sideways to read the reason H wanted the item. "Damn it," he muttered, "I'm going to have to run a class on how to fill out this stuff right!"

_You would have hated that if Simon had done that. And he never got on you for how you filled them out, either._

He ignored this, wishing his stomach would calm down. Eating lunch while doing paperwork was worse than trying to eat on patrol, and for a moment his mind supplied him with an image of his early days when he'd been a lowly patrolman, giving tickets and learning the streets. Luckily, he'd been promoted to detective status fairly quickly, based on his Ranger experience and college degree, but now his mind seized on the experiences again, wistfully visualizing the bright sunlight, crowded sidewalks, and frenetic activity as a glad alternative to his current circumstances.

He shook his head sharply, focusing on the form again. Why H would want this anyway… He frowned as he realized the handwriting had changed, and glanced at the name, his eyebrows drawing together when he saw Kane's name scribbled in barely readable form at the top. What the hell?

Glancing around, he saw the form with H's name on it lying off to the side, his own signature bold against the white paper. He stared at it for a long moment, forcing his memory to reach backward, but try as he might, he couldn't remember signing his name to it.

This time he did groan, and crossing his arms on the desk, he buried his face in them, wanting only to relax and forget all of this had ever happened. His mind supplied him with a picture of his own desk, sitting empty and neglected out in the Bull Pen, with Blair's chair next to it, and he inhaled on a sigh, then jerked his head out of his arms and coughed as the scent of ink rushed up his nostrils.

Ink and paper, and a touch of perfume from the assistant down in the supply room where the paper was located… He coughed again, shaking his head as he tried to rid himself of the lingering scent. Reaching for his cup, he took a desperate swallow of the now-cold coffee, hoping to erase the taste that coated his tongue and grimacing at the bitterness of the old brew.

Coffee mixed with the tastes of perfume and ink, and Jim took a deep breath, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk. _No, no, no_ , he thought desperately, _not here, not now, not without Blair_!

The wall between the two of them quivered, almost going down, and the memory of standing in the square last night, watching his friend, his Guide, his _partner_ , for God's sake, walk away from him, was suddenly vivid in his mind, and the wall solidified again.

He could almost feel Blair's frustration on the other side of the barrier, and closed his eyes. Small flashes of light played behind his eyelids, and he opened them hurriedly. "No," he whispered aloud, "no. Not now!"

The phone rang.

The shrill sound almost sent him over the edge, the world wavering on the edge of a black disk of chaos waiting to happen, but the second ring jerked him back into the office again with an almost physical _thud_ , and he swallowed, then took a deep breath as a headache flared behind his eyes.

The phone rang again, and without thinking to check the ID, he reached out and lifted it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Light bulbs exploded in his face, loud voices raised in a chorus of questions, and without thinking about it, Jim reached for Blair, the wall evaporating without a trace as their spirits met and melded.

"Captain Ellison, what is your analysis of the situation in Chinatown?"

"How does it feel, to have this case as your first as Acting Captain?"

"Do you have any leads as of this moment?"

"Can you explain why your people have not so much as pulled in a suspect?"

"Do you believe this killer has a connection to the renovation in Chinatown?"

"Are you enjoying your promotion to Acting Captain?"

"Do you believe in ghosts, Captain?"

The questions faded to a dull murmur, and Jim shook his head, peering out at the stalled traffic in front of him. That was really all he remembered of the press conference, just as he didn't remember much of the major grilling he'd received from the mayor when he'd answered Allison's demand that he come down to the man's office. In general, his memories of the afternoon past the phone call were shadowed and dim, with clear moments of embarrassment and humiliation standing out along the way. That and the warm sharing with Blair.

He hadn't even asked, had just reached out for his Guide and found him, pulling him into the gestalt without so much as a question between them. The memory made him blush, and he closed his eyes, resting his aching head against the steering wheel and shutting out the view of the long line of cars on the freeway ahead of him.

Damn it, what kind of person was he to drag Blair into his mind without any warning? Hell, he hadn't even asked the kid!

 _Since when am I a kid?_ The indignant response was quick, and Jim sighed, lifting his head enough to glance at the cars. They hadn't moved, and he leaned on the steering wheel again.

 _I shouldn't have done it_ , he thought back to his partner. _Not without asking first_.

 _You didn't have to ask,_ Blair pointed out dryly.

Ellison could almost see him, leaning back in his favorite chair on the patio in back of the House, dappled sunlight playing over him as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. _Yes, I should have_ , he thought wearily.

His headache flared again, throbbing viciously, and he reached up, pressing his fingers against his forehead, moving to rub his eyes with long, soothing strokes. It took a moment before he realized that there was only silence in his mind, no sense of Blair, and he hesitated, then reached toward his friend.

A blasting stab of pain swept through him, and he cringed, quickly withdrawing the probe. The headache settled into a pulsing ache, and he sighed, opening his eyes to see if the cars ahead had moved. They had, by about five feet, and he slid forward and stopped.

His gaze fell on the dashboard clock, and he groaned. 5:45. At this rate it would take him until midnight to reach the House, and he grimaced, closing his eyes again and sliding his hands over them.

He knew that nothing had happened to Blair, and nothing was wrong with the link; it was all him, his headache, his weariness, his frustration getting in the way. If his Guide had been in the seat beside him, he could probably talk Jim into the link, but his absence left Jim high and dry on this side of the freeway, miles from the House and from his partner.

Damn, damn, damn. He was going to be very, very late for the supper that Blair had invited him to earlier, and was likely going to miss the scouting trip to Roger's arena completely.

Panic flared through him at the thought, and he gripped the steering wheel and shook it, hardly registering the horn blaring that resulted. Blair wouldn't wait for him, he knew that. Not on this, not with Roger. And not when it was only a scouting trip, nothing major.

It wasn't like he really needed Jim for the foray, the Sentinel knew that. He had Maggie, and she would be more than enough, and the others might be there, too, if they were needed.

"No!" he shouted, the word ringing through the truck. "Chief, damn it…"

The words were a bare echo of the frustration running through him. He was a Sentinel, and he was supposed to be there for his Guide, come hell or high water! And nothing, especially not a freakin' traffic jam, was supposed to get in his way. Yet here he was, stuck behind a multi-car traffic accident that was likely going to take several hours to clean up, and he couldn't even control his own mind enough to reach out and be there for his Guide when he was needed. After all, if he could just relax enough to use the link, he could still be there for Blair as backup; they didn't have to be together for the gestalt to work, he knew that, the press conference was yet one more proof of that truth.

And try as he might, he couldn't get through. None of the exercises he knew worked, his head still felt like someone had buried a pickax in it and was now trying to dig it out, and black weariness seemed lacquered into his bones. He tried until little white spots were beginning to dance in front of his eyes, then tiredly backed off. The last thing he needed was to zone-out in the middle of a freeway; that would be a great setup for an accident, and he knew Blair would never forgive him that.


	9. Chapter 9

"Yes," Blair said quietly, meeting Maggie's eyes across the patio table. "I think we should go ahead and do the scouting trip, even without Jim."

His precept frowned at him, thoughtful. "Are you sure?"

The shaman shrugged. "As near as I can figure, he's tied up in a traffic jam on Olympic and won't be here for God knows how long. Plus the fact that he's tired and worn out, and not in the best condition to do it anyway."

Maggie cocked her head at him. "What about the bond between you?"

Blair lifted a shoulder, let it drop. "It's out of commission for the moment. Besides," he added at her surprised stare, "I don't think we could use it across a circle anyway, or at least, I'm not sure we should."

The older woman watched him for a long moment, then nodded. "All right. But I don't want you going in alone." She considered, then smiled faintly. "Sean will do."

Blair lifted an eyebrow at her, then nodded. Whatever he thought, she was his precept, and it wasn't his place to question her choices of people for missions. And Sean had been a good companion last time he'd been to Roger's space, although hopefully this foray wouldn't be nearly as dangerous.[1]

Maggie smiled at him, a glint of approval in her eyes, and stood, the young shaman following her as she led the way inside the House but coming level with her as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. Together they pushed through the holographic wall into the control room, finding Sean seated in front of his set of computers.

He glanced up at them as they entered. "So Jim here yet for your trek into cosmic shaman space?"

His question was upbeat, and if he hadn't been listening, Blair wouldn't have caught the wistfulness behind the words. He remembered John telling him once that Sean had been protected during his life with the Legacy, and envied Sandburg his experiences, but he'd forgotten that recently.

_Well, this kind of mission should help with that, then. At least it's just a scouting trip, not too dangerous._

"No," Maggie answered briskly. "He will not be able to make it. But you can. Come." She turned away, heading toward the exit, leaving Sean stunned in his seat.

The young linguist stared after her, then at Blair, who motioned him to his feet. "Come on," he urged as Sean stood up. "We don't have time to waste, man! Let's go! Roger's people are waiting for us."

Sean followed him, catching up outside the room and leaning close to Sandburg. "What's going on, Blair?"

"You're going with me," the shaman answered, starting down the stairs after Maggie.

"Me?"

Blair heard the buried squeak behind the word and tossed his teammate a grin. "Yep. Come on, time's a-wastin'!" _I'm going to have to set up some sessions with him about working with me after this_ , he mused, the teacher in him kicking in. _Take him on some trips, teach him how this kind of energy works and the like. He could use that, and it would make him a lot more confident. Besides, it's not like this sort of thing isn't going to happen a lot with this group._

They turned into a large room that Blair had always considered the ritual room, and a quick flash of memory hit him as he entered, a memory of waking in Jim's arms months earlier, a drawn circle glowing blue around him, with his teammates of the House standing near.[2]

Now the room stood quiet and empty, although Blair could feel the power resonate through it, marked as it was by times of use. Maggie was drawing a large circle on the floor, and the shaman paused by the door to grab one of the rugs he'd used when practicing rituals.

Sean followed him into the almost-drawn circle and helped unfold the rug, watching as Blair centered it inside the circle. The anthropologist seated himself on it, motioning to the younger man to join him.

Sean lowered himself to a seated position, looking at him askance. "You know, I'm not, uh, real experienced in this kind of thing," he muttered.

"This is how you get experienced," Blair commented, his gaze softening as the linguist looked at him uncertainly. "Don't worry," he added. "This is just a scouting trip, nothing serious. The worst we're likely to run across is a minor entity wandering the space, and ten to one it won't bother us."

"Yeah, but Roger–"

"Won't even know we're there," the shaman finished. "We'll be outside his space; he'll have no reason to look there." He felt the circle close around them, the energy wards humming across his skin, and sat up straighter. "Hold out your hands," he ordered Sean.

"Huh?"

"Your hands!" Blair snapped.

The blond held them out before he thought about it, and Blair reached over, sliding his fingers around the younger man's forearms. "Hold mine," he said, waiting until Sean turned his hands in the anthropologist's grip and returned the hold, his grasp awkward but firm. When Blair was sure that their forearm grips were secure, he nodded to Maggie.

The precept nodded, then paced around the circle, halting at each of the cardinal points to chant a short line. Blair recognized the language as Gaelic, Maggie's native tongue, but he couldn't translate it. He didn't need to, though, as he felt the circle grow stronger, more solid around them, and feeling the slight shiver that ran through Sean, he knew the younger man felt it, too.

Maggie halted near them, turning to stare at them. "The circle is whole," she intoned, "the powers that be strong and present. East, South, West, and North – the circle is sealed. Go, and do what must be done."

Blair bowed his head, his grip tightening around Sean's forearm. "Come with me," he said lowly, closing his eyes.

And suddenly they stood side by side on what appeared to be a vast plain, stretching out in all directions. But Sean only saw that for a moment, before the mist closed in, limiting visibility to only a few feet. He glanced at Blair, who stood still, staring into the mist with a listening expression on his face.

Sean clenched his fists by his side, shoving them into his pockets. Anything could creep up on them out here, and they'd never know it until it was way too late. Where did Blair get off, saying this wasn't that dangerous? He bit back his mounting anger, eying his teammate sullenly when the man turned to look at him, frowning.

"Sean," Sandburg said softly, "stop it. You can't bring fierce emotion into this space and get any work done. The emotion will turn on you, make you a target."

 _Target? Oh, great, just great_ , Sean grouched silently. _Just what I need. Why'n hell did I agree to do this anyway? He doesn't need me!_

"Concentrate!" Blair snapped, stepping closer to him and holding his gaze. "This isn't a hostile place unless you make it so, but your energy is pushing it that direction. Look at me!" he snapped when Sean would have shifted away, and to his dismay the young linguist found he couldn't disobey. Panic flared at the enforced obedience, and he scowled.

Blair's eyes were blue, and deep, and Sean found he was falling, falling into an old, old nightmare.

_He was running, running, and sobbing. Shadows raced behind him, dogging his small heels, herding him. Behind him he heard screams, and the crunching of bones, and delighted laughter. He ran faster._

_And then there were arms around him, strong arms that lifted him from the darkness, his father, holding him close as he sobbed and sobbed, trying to forget that awful, sickening darkness and what lived there._

Light flooded through him, and Sean blinked back the nightmare, finding himself back on the fog-enshrouded plain, Blair's arms around him, rocking him. He clung to the shaman for a long moment, surprised to find his face wet with tears, then pushed away, raising his hands to wipe his eyes as the shaman loosed him.

Blair sat back on his heels, studying Sean with sober eyes. The linguist glanced at him, then away, shame burning through him. "Sorry about that," he muttered. "I didn't mean to–"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sandburg's voice was intense, and Sean frowned at him.

"Tell you what?" he asked roughly. "That I had nightmares as a kid? Come on!"

The shaman shook his head impatiently. "Those aren't nightmares, and you know it! Why didn't you tell me about what happened?" His annoyance trailed off at the confused expression on Sean's face. "You didn't know?"

"Know what?" the linguist asked, confusion and anger warring in his tone. "That I'm an idiot who can't let go of a childhood dream?"

Blair scrubbed his hands over his face, then dropped them. "Damn, I can't believe that no one knew," he muttered. "Someone had to; I can't be the first one to–"

"What?" Sean demanded. "Know what? What are you talking about?"

Blair closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them to stare at the linguist. "Those aren't nightmares, Sean. They're memories."

The blond frowned at him, then shook his head. "You're wrong. They're just dreams, that's all." But his voice was uncertain, and Blair shook his head.

"No," he said quietly. "They were real, and you know it."

"Real?" Sean looked at him for a long moment. "Everyone told me they were just dreams. You mean everyone was lying?"

Blair could hear the underlying question – _you mean my mom and dad lied to me?_ – and shook his head. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I'm sure they had their reasons, but somebody must have known your dreams weren't just dreams; I can't believe that I'm the first one to see that. How old were you when you dreamed this the first time?"

The blond looked down at his feet. "Four or five, I think."

"That's about the right age," Blair mused. "Before that age kids can see or know all kinds of things, but since they don't know that's what they're doing, they don't keep doing it. But four or five, you're starting to differentiate, and so you remember more. I don't know what happened, but you tapped something, somewhere, and it was real."

Sean looked up at him, then away. Emotions flushed through him – anger, confusion, betrayal, all of them fading at last into a muted set of questions. He looked back at Blair. "Don't we need to be moving? To find Roger's space, I mean?" he added at the shaman's blank look.

Blair studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Are you all right?"

The blond frowned, dropping his gaze. "Sure," he said automatically, then winced as the untruth in the word bounced between them. "No," he said honestly, looking up to meet Blair's eyes. "But I'm good enough to do what has to be done here, and that's what we came for. The other…" He shook his head. "I have to think about it."

"Fair enough," Sandburg said quietly, levering himself to his feet and holding out a hand to Sean, who took it and pulled himself up. "But if you want to talk about it later, I'm here."

Sean glanced at him and smiled. "Thanks. Maybe I'll take you up on that. I've got questions…" He trailed off, his smile dying.

"I know," Blair answered. "And maybe I can help you find some of the answers. If I can, I will." He turned to look around them, that listening expression settling on his face again.

Sean watched him stare around them and couldn't help asking, "What do you see?"

The shaman looked back at him, his lips quirking. "Probably not what you see. Everyone's vision of this space is different, but always true."

          The linguist snorted. "Then mine is a real boring true, since all I get is fog on an empty plain."

          "Hmm," Blair said neutrally, but Sean knew him well enough by now to see the small spark of concern in the other man's eyes, and he sighed.

          "Guess that means I should be seeing something else," he grumbled.

"Not necessarily," the shaman disagreed. "But for our purposes, we need to be seeing something pretty similar." He reached to grasp Sean's shoulder, holding it for a long moment. Sean gaped as the fog melted away, revealing a land of soft, rolling hills, grass waving as far as he could see. Mountains were dark against the horizon, early sunlight rimming the peaks in front of them. Birdcalls were loud around them, and the young linguist saw a rabbit nibbling off to their left, together with a doe and her fawn.

 _The Chief brings morning with him_. Sean abruptly remembered overhearing a conversation between Maggie and Jim one evening the Sentinel had been visiting, and wonder thrilled through him as he suddenly understood what the man had meant.

"That way," Blair said, gesturing toward the sunrise. "Roger's area is in that direction." He started walking, and the blond fell into step with him.

"East, huh?" Sean asked thoughtfully. "How do you know?"

The shaman shrugged, not looking at him. "When you've been marked by something that wants to own you for the rest of eternity, you always know where it is, like feeling the sun on your face or the winter wind at your back."

Sean said nothing, realizing that his teammate's fear of facing Roger again was probably many times worse than his own, and resolving that he'd help make it as bearable as possible.

They hiked onward for a while, Blair pausing every now and again to roll several stones into a heap, then signing above them, marking a path that they could use next time they came this way, which would, Sean knew, be when the entire team, together with Jim, came to break Roger's slaves out of their prison. The sun rose higher as they took their path, its beams reaching further down the mountainsides, slowly flooding the many miles of grassland with a delicate sunlight, and Sean relaxed into it, feeling that nothing bad could happen when they stood in such a morning.

At last they rounded a small hill of boulders, abruptly finding themselves facing an enormous stone wall running as far left and right as they could see. The sky above them was clear and blue, but it halted just at the wall, and everything past that was grey and dreary.

"That's it," Blair said softly, halting.

"So we just find an opening we can enlarge next time and mark it, then leave, right?" Sean asked, eyeing the wall uncertainly. He'd never seen it on his own visit to Roger's domain, but it matched the description he'd heard that long ago day when the House members had infiltrated Roger's space to rescue Blair – sturdy stone studded with openings of different sizes along its length, through which darkness could be seen. He had no desire to get closer, but he knew that part of their mission was to find a likely opening and mark it so that they could find it when they returned.

"Yes," the shaman answered absently, slowly approaching the wall.

"Well," Sean said in a determinedly upbeat tone as he pointed at a reasonably large hole, "that looks like a good-sized opening."

"Yes," Blair repeated, crouching next to the wall and staring through one of the holes.

Sean wondered uneasily whether some attraction still existed between Roger and Blair, that the man should edge so close to the barrier he had once fought so hard to escape.

Blair took a deep breath, then reached out to touch the wall, marking a rune across the opening. It glimmered blue, then faded until Sean could barely see it, and Blair nodded as he stepped back to join the linguist. "All right," he said gravely. "Time to go."

"Great!" Sean enthused in a low voice, unable to shake the feeling that Roger stood just on the other side of the wall. "Let's go, then! Maggie'll be glad to see us." He backed away from the wall, frowning when Blair's head lifted and he stepped back toward the barrier. "What're you doing?" he objected as the shaman knelt to stare through another opening, his gaze riveted.

"Someone's there," Blair said, his voice rising in the unadulterated passion that Sean had heard various times over the past few months, whenever something had captured the anthropologist's focus completely.

Fear shrilled through the linguist, and he bolted forward, his hands finding Blair's shoulders and yanking him backward. "Are you crazy?" he hissed as Sandburg lost his balance and sprawled on the ground. "Come on!"

Blair glared up at him, then looked back at the wall. "No! It's not Roger. It's one of his people." He scrambled to his feet and knelt beside the wall again, peering through the opening.

"Damn it, Blair!" Sean growled, keeping his voice low with an effort. "Who cares! We'll come back for them; that's the point, and Roger probably keeps tabs on his people. Come _on_!" He tugged at Blair, but the man might as well have been one of the enormous boulders that sat nearby for all he moved.

"No," he muttered, staring inside. "Roger's not here, I would know, I would feel it, and I don't. But if we could talk to one of them, warn them that we're coming, then they'd know they had hope, allies, and they'd be ready to move when we come, ready to fight."

Sean's stomach turned over. He could tell that Blair wasn't really answering him, but was rather thinking aloud, convincing himself to act, and he lunged forward, hands outstretched.

Too late. Even as he moved, Blair threw himself forward, through the opening, and was gone.

The horror that gripped Sean was so intense that he couldn't move for a moment, could only kneel where his leap had landed him, frozen. _What am I going to tell Maggie?_ he wondered sickly, and then, with a jolt of sheer terror, _What am I going to tell Jim?_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          On the other side of the wall, Blair fought back his own terror, part of him recognizing, beyond a doubt, the feel of a place that stank of Roger. He looked up at the older woman at whose feet his rash move had landed him, and tried to smile away her startled look.

"Oh, my goodness," she said breathlessly. "You startled me so!" She had a slight accent, and something about the way she spoke made him wonder, briefly, just how long she had been here, enslaved to a master who would hold her for all eternity.

"I'm really sorry," he said, pushing himself to his feet and forcing a smile. "But I just had to tell you that there's a way out of here, and you have friends who will help you find it."

Dismay spread over her face, and she waved her parasol frantically. "Oh, no, no, no!" she said. "I can't leave here; he'll hurt Caroline if I do, and he would do it, I know he would! I will see her soon, so he promised, and he keeps his promises. Go away," she said, advancing on him with a ferocity that forced him backward until he bumped into the wall. "Go away, I say! We want no help from you; we _need_ no help from you. I will call him," she babbled, "and that will help us all."

She took a deep breath, and Blair caught her wrists, holding her gaze with his own and bringing to bear all the power he could call upon. "Do you really want to condemn another person to this place? To him?"

"I have a life," he said intensely when she hesitated. "People who care about me, who don't want to lose me. If you don't want our help, I'll go away, I promise, and never return. I would never want to harm you or anyone you care about, or keep you from them. Don't harm _me_. Please!"

She took a breath, and Blair could see the struggle in her eyes. He released her and reached sideways, feeling the hole at his back and praying that it was the same one he'd used to enter this place. "God go with you," he said quietly, remembering something an old 'aunt' of his had said to him once, "and may happiness find you."

And he threw himself back through the hole, hearing her weeping as he moved.

Sean caught him as he landed and pulled him back from the wall. "Damn it, Blair, how stupid can you be?" he said furiously, but his white face belied his anger, and the shaman felt a lurch in his heart as he realized just how scared the younger man had been.

"Sorry," he said honestly, his mind veering to what the older woman had said as he pushed himself to his feet, starting to pace. "My God, Sean, they don't want to be rescued," he said wonderingly.

"Well, right now I don't really want to do any rescuing," the linguist retorted. "Can we go home now? Maggie must be wondering what happened to us."

"Yeah, sure," Blair said, pulling himself out of his reverie with an effort, and turning back to the path he'd marked, then frowned as he looked around at the landscape. There was no sign of the hill of boulders they'd circled to reach the wall, and the land was considerably flatter. The sky was darker, as gray as if it was twilight rather than just after sunrise, and the mountains that had been so close upon them were now but a faint line on the horizon. There were no markings showing the path they'd used, and he looked back at Sean. "What happened?"

Sean shrugged. "I don't know. I was just watching for you, and when I looked up I was here and you were coming through the hole."

Blair glanced up and down the wall, then around the two of them, his frown growing. The linguist watched him, then stood. "What's up?"

Sandburg shook his head. "I tried to use the same hole to escape as when I entered, but I think I missed it. This is a long, long way from the marked path, I think." He glanced at the blond. "Good thing our earlier experience helped us bond to each other, even just a little, or you would've stayed where you were and chances are we never would've found each other. As it is, my exiting the wall drew you here."

"I'm not sure that's an improvement," Sean remarked, glancing around nervously as the sky continued to darken. "This doesn't feel like a good place to be."

"No," the shaman said grimly, "I don't think it is. This is another whole area than the one I typically use, so I don't know what's here, or who." He stared at the far away ridge of mountains, then back across the plains, grimacing. "Come on, we'd better get moving."

"If we're that far from where we started," Sean said uneasily as they started walking, "how're we going to get back without taking a whole lot longer than when we came in? We must've been gone a pretty long time already."

Blair shrugged, scanning the landscape around them. "Actually, it's hard to say. It could have been pretty long, or it could be relative time and only been a few minutes. There's no way to tell which until we get back."

"Can we get back?" Sean demanded as he kept step with the shaman, trying to watch all directions, particularly their back trail. He didn't like the feel of the place. "I mean, without the markers?"

"I'm hoping to find some place of correspondence and step across," Blair said vaguely, changing direction a little.

"Huh?"

"In places like this," Blair explained, glancing at him, "there's often correspondences between one area and another, and if you can find them, you can step across from one to the other."

"That would be a good thing," Sean agreed, frowning as he watched the air ahead of them darken. "Is that–" he started.

"A storm?" Blair finished, watching it with a frown. "Maybe. Let's keep going," he added when Sean slowed, and the younger man cast him an annoyed glance but obeyed, increasing his speed until they were walking in step, straight toward the seeming storm.

"At the top of that hill I'm hoping to find a correspondence point," Blair said, gesturing at the hilltop they were heading for. "That means that if something happens, it'll probably be before then."

"Great," Sean muttered, not looking at him. "Big, bad, and ugly on a tear, and we're right in the middle of it."

They paced on in silence for a few minutes, until Blair glanced over at him. "I'm really sorry, Sean, but I _had_ to do that! Just the chance of freeing one of them, of asking them about Roger, about conditions of their imprisonment, about who they are and who they love, how Roger caught them…" He took a breath, then plunged on. "If there was even the faintest chance of that happening, I had to try." Fervent in the tone was all the commitment he'd brought to the cause of tracking down Roger's victims and freeing them, and the young linguist sighed, unable to hold onto his anger in the face of that passion.

"I know," he agreed. "It's just the way it is. Let's just get back in one piece, that's all."

Blair grinned at him, then looked ahead again, the smile fading.

It was by now quickly darkening around them, and Sean spared a moment to wish that one or both of them had Jim's Sentinel gifts and could see in the dark. He glanced over at Blair, who looked back at him and nodded.

"Run," the shaman ordered, and they did, trying to watch their footing in the gloom. As the ground lifted under their feet and they started up the incline, Sean became aware of the silence around them, where before there'd been birdsong in all directions. Now there was nothing, and he lowered his head and ran faster.

They were nearing the crest of the hill when the wind hit them, bitterly cold and hard enough that both of them staggered. At the same time darkness dropped on them, complete enough that both of them stopped in their tracks, unable to see even a step ahead. Behind them Sean heard a sudden baying of hounds, and a delighted laugh echoed.

The linguist froze, sick horror sliding through him as the laugh repeated. He had heard that sound before, in his nightmares, and he fought back the urge to retch.

"Don't stop!" Blair's voice echoed out of the darkness, and a warm hand grabbed Sean's, jerking him forward again. "Move!"

The young linguist swallowed, stumbling forward. Dread twisted his stomach, and for a moment he felt like he was five again, running in the darkness, while behind him bones cracked and peal after peal of laughter echoed.

 _We are those who stand between the shadow and the light_. A sudden memory of Derek Rayne's journal, read once as a teenager, blazed through him, and he jerked in a shallow breath and moved faster, no longer dragged by Blair, but running side by side with him. They still held hands, and Sean didn't feel any urge to release the grip.

The hill was steep, more sheer than he remembered it, and unwillingly they slowed, feeling their way up the slope more by instinct than anything else, since they certainly couldn’t see their feet. The cold wind was still driving in their faces, flattening clothes against skin. Sean could feel Blair shivering, and knew the shaman was aware of his own reaction as well. The dust kicked up, and he tried not to sneeze, knowing how that would shake his balance on the steep hill, and could feel Blair doing the same.

The hounds were close. One moment they had seemed some way away, but now, abruptly, their bays were deafening, as if they'd leaped the distance between and their quarry in a single bound.

"Don't look back," Blair said, quickening their pace, although both of them paid with more stumbles.

Sean didn't look back, afraid that if he did he'd see the red eyes shining only yards behind them, just as they had in his dreams. He bent his head against the wind and leaned into the slope, trying to climb quicker. The hounds were deafening now, and he felt the knowledge begin to hollow his bones.

_We're not going to make it._

There was a rustle as something sped by them, then the bays broke into sharp yelps. The hill was suddenly easier to climb, and they obliged, breaking into a half-run.

The hounds were still yelping, sharp, tearing cries that if Sean had heard from a dog in his world would have prompted him to go to its aid. He didn't turn, feeling the ground start to level out under his feet. The sky was lighter.

One hound let out a gurgling cry, then was silent, followed by another one. A chorus of whimpers and yips echoed past them, but they were fainter, the hounds clearly running away.

 _From what?_ Sean finally found the time to wonder as the slope evened out and they stood on almost-flat ground. The light was now that of early twilight rather than early nighttime.

Behind them a triumphant howl echoed, all the eeriness of a wolf's song in its ululating lifting notes, and Sean heard Blair's breath jerk.

"Dad?" he asked, turning to look back, pulling the linguist with him through their still-joined hands. The blond heard the swift bounding of paws up the slope, and he clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to run.

A large black wolf leaped over the rise, quickly halting in front of them. Blair grinned, loosing Sean as he stepped forward. "Dad!"

The wolf nipped at him, then snarled at them both.

"Uh, Blair," Sean said, staring back over their path, "I think maybe he's saying we should leave now. If we can."

Behind them the darkness was intense, but there was a sense of roiling motion in the middle of it that made the blond's stomach turn over, and Blair's audible swallow told him the shaman felt the same way.

"Come on," Blair said grimly, turning to look across the hilltop they stood on, now clearly visible in the gray light. "Spread out and search – somewhere here there's a correspondence…"

He trailed off as Sean followed him, and the younger man bit his lip, hearing the strain in the shaman's voice. _You mean that you hope there's a correspondence_, he thought, carefully keeping the words to himself. "Uh, Blair," he asked, "what does a correspondence look like?"

The shaman glanced back at him. "You'll know it when you see it," he said briefly, then pointed to his left. "You go that way, I'll go this way, and Dad…"

The wolf turned and trotted off, and Blair grinned faintly as he let his hand drop. "Wolves never do what you tell them."

"Then you fit right in," Sean couldn't help but point out, earning him a patented Sandburg glare that he pretended to duck.

Blair rolled his eyes and headed off in the direction he had chosen, and Sean turned to do the same, wondering how he would just 'know' a correspondence when he saw it, particularly when he wasn't sure exactly what it was anyway. But he wasn't going to delay Blair with those kinds of questions. Maybe later, after they were home.

If they got home.

Sean shook his head, forcing the thought away, and focused on his search,

trying not to watch the approaching darkness.

It seemed like a long time until he found their goal, although Sean suspected that it was probably just a few short moments. But in those moments the frothing, churning darkness had almost reached the hill, and the sky above them was losing the light quickly.

By that time Sean was shaking. He could _feel_ the creeping horror of the Hunter below, getting nearer and nearer, and he fought the urge to find a hole and hide within it, as his five-year-old self would have, helpless and innocent. He was no longer so helpless, and not nearly so innocent, and he was damned if he'd crawl away and cower inside the shadows. He had companions who were counting on him, and who would risk themselves to save him, and more, he was of the Legacy, by his own choice.

 _We stand between the darkness and the light_ …

Derek's words echoed again in his mind, and that was when he saw it, the five concentric circles of rock that could be no other than the correspondence that Blair had described. Granted, only the large rock at the center of the circle was visible, and in the dim gloaming the small humps and hillocks around it might have been nothing more than the random rocks he had found elsewhere, but in his mind it was clear, and he raised his voice in a shout.

Blair slid to a stop beside him seconds later, his glance swift across the space, then nodded. The wolf, little more than a darker shadow at the shaman's heels in the quickly gathering dusk, whuffled softly, and Sean felt his face heating slightly at the approving sound. The feeling faded quickly, though, as Blair started toward the circle, gesturing as he did. The area flared suddenly, blue light outlining all its points, and Sean realized that it was a spiral rather than a circle, a glowing nimbus at its heart.

Below the hill, yips and bays broke out, the hounds clearly closing in.

Blair paused just before the entrance, glancing at Sean. "Think of it as a path," he said swiftly. "Don't step on the lines, and think of being back in my space, as you saw it. I'll go first to set the path; wait until I've reached the first turn before you start. Got it?"

He barely waited for Sean's answer before he turned to begin the spiral, now gleaming brightly in the almost complete darkness. The hounds' baying was louder, closer.

Sean waited, teeth clenched, watching his friend's progress and trying not to listen to the approaching pack. Blair's steps were quick, but the blond could sense the deliberate concentration that drove him, and knew, somehow, that the shaman would have much preferred a slower, careful pace to the quick stride he was forced to set.

When Blair had reached the first turn, Sean took a deep breath, then turned to the wolf. This was Blair's dad, and he knew some of what that meant to the shaman. And he had a feeling that the Hunter was just as dangerous to the wolf as he was to them.

He waved at the path, but wasn't too surprised at the soft snarl that greeted his offer, and didn't argue as the wolf nipped at him, the teeth snapping shut inches from his hand. "Okay, okay," he said hastily, stepping towards the spiral. "Just you make sure you're right behind me," he added as he lifted a foot to step onto the path. "It would kill Blair if something happened to you." He didn't stay to see the wolf's reaction, but started into the spiral, concentrating as he did on a vision of soft, rolling hills, green with grass and touched with sunrise.

 

[1] See previous story in timeline: "Roger's Calling," in _Sensory Overload #9_.

[2] See previous story in timeline: "Roger's Calling," in _Sensory Overload #9_.


	10. Chapter 10

Jim dashed up the stairs to the Legacy House, yanking open the front door and throwing himself through it, the resulting slam reverberating behind him. Turning to his left, he raced toward the ritual room, running full tilt into John as he rounded the corner.

"No!" the priest gasped as they both crashed into the wall, catching Jim's arm as the Sentinel sprang back, setting himself to batter down the closed door barring him from his destination. "Jim, if you go in there, you'll break the circle, and they'll have no way to find their way back!"

It was perhaps the only thing which could've stopped the Sentinel's rush to his Guide, and as it was Jim only barely managed to halt his charge in time, plowing to a stop bare inches from the door.

Whirling to face John, Ellison snarled, "What the hell happened?"

Still leaning against the wall Jim had thrown him against, the ex-Marine sighed. "I don't know. You know it was supposed to be a scouting trip, nothing more, laying the path. Nothing big." He studied the Sentinel for a moment, then added, "I just knew when it went wrong, and by then it was too late to join them."

Jim nodded, his jaw bunched and tight, and turned back to the door, cocking his head, his eyes losing their focus.

"Don't go there, mister!" John barked. He straightened, taking a step toward the other man. "And that's an order!"

Ellison jerked, whipping around to stare at John, who spoke before he could, his words focused and intense.

"Jim, you can't reach him across the circle, not even with your link, and if you zone out, I might not be able to bring you back. That means when he gets back, you won't be here for him. And he might not be in any shape to pull you out of it. Don't do that to him."

Ellison lowered his head, raising a hand to rub his eyes, then looked back at John, who gritted his teeth at the desolate expression in the Sentinel's eyes and took a step closer to him. "Blair's a damn good shaman, Jim. And he's got allies even he might not know about. Be here for him. Stay with me."

Jim nodded, and together they waited.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

It wasn't until Sean was well into the spiral that he realized the wolf wasn't following him. By then Blair had already stepped through the heart of the spiral to their destination, Sean knowing, somehow, that he had gone to hold it open, as he could not do here.

Now at the second turn of the spiral, Sean glanced back and halted, a thrill of pure horror drilling through him. The wolf stood at the entrance to the spiral, snarling at the hounds that milled around him. Even as Sean watched, one dog ventured too near, and the wolf struck, fangs flashing. There was a shrill yelp and the hound collapsed, his fall making the pile of bodies fronting the wolf even higher and making it that much harder for the dogs to reach the wolf. The roiling, driving darkness was halfway up the hill, although the wind that Sean could see almost flattening every tree and bush in sight didn't touch him inside the spiral.

Sean wavered, the deafening bays and barks of the dogs almost driving him into a run forward, toward safety and home, but unable to stomach the thought of leaving the wolf behind. He hesitated a moment more, then swallowing, turned and put his foot on the path leading back to the entrance of the spiral. _I can't leave him here. I can't._

As if the wolf had heard the thought, or felt his step, the animal's head jerked around and their gazes met.

_Go!_

The command was so powerful that Sean staggered, his foot coming perilously near the line of the spiral, but he looked back at the wolf, setting his jaw. _Not without you!_

The wolf opened his jaws in a hungry grin. _I will come. Once I have dealt with these_. The contempt in the last word was fierce and vicious, and Sean swallowed, then nodded, trying not to look at the tornado of darkness that was almost on them. He turned back to the spiral, walking forward as quickly as he could, and trying to ignore the snarls and snaps and pained yelps that echoed behind him.

He was only a few steps from the center of the spiral when the world went black.

Sean had been in a cave once where the tour guide had turned out the lights, and still remembered the absolute, total darkness that had surrounded him. It hadn't been a matter of adjusting his eyes to the dark – there was simply no light to be used, and he had never forgotten the experience of an utter and complete lack of light.

This was like that, or it would have been, if the spiral itself hadn't glowed blue, its lines even clearer now than before, and Sean knew without knowing how that the Hunter had no power over the spiral or those within it, as long as they didn't let terror drive them into mistakes. But he still couldn't see his hand in front of his face, or his feet, and he inched forward, trying to set himself between the lines of the spiral by triangulation alone. He was only a few feet from the heart now.

A moaning scream echoed above him, and he jerked to a stop, glancing upward. Even in the complete darkness, he could see, or sense, that the air above him frothed and twisted, roiling as intensely as a true tornado would, and he knew, somehow, that one mistake on the trail to the spiral's heart would allow the Hunter to pluck him from the path as easily as a nut from its shell.

Sean swallowed, fighting the urge to run, to scream, to panic. That way lay death and something much worse; he _could not_ afford to let fear take him over. Wrapping his arms around himself to battle the cold shivers that shook through him, he forced himself forward, one careful step, two.

He heard paws bounding toward him from behind, and stiffened, glancing back, hoping that it was the wolf and not the hounds, even though he had a sense that the Hunter's creatures couldn't enter the spiral any more than he himself could. But still…

Black as night himself, the wolf was invisible, and Sean swallowed hard, forcing himself not to step off to the side as the sound of paws neared him, not daring to judge his distance from the lines that he couldn't step on, and inched forward again.

A whuffle relaxed him as the paws slowed behind him, then a cold nose touched his hand, nudging him forward.

One step forward, the wolf directly behind him, and space zoomed white around him, wind abruptly harsh in his ears.

Then it was gone, and he stumbled forward, falling to his knees as sunlight exploded around him. He gasped, covering his face with his hands and screwing his eyes shut, feeling the tears run down his cheeks as his dark-adjusted eyes fought to adapt.

He blinked out of it a moment later, finding himself staring out over soft, rolling hills lit by soft sunlight, with grass cool under his knees.

"Yes!" he whispered, then shouted it. "Yes!"

A whuffle and a whimper drew his attention, and he slewed around.

Blair lay on his back, the ground around him scratched and gouged, strewn by rocks and tuffs of grass. The wolf was nudging him and whining, and Sean found his feet and stumbled across to them, dropping to his knees beside his friend.

"Oh, Blair," he said helplessly, the words catching in his throat as he saw the many bloody furrows plowed across the young shaman's body, some shallow and long, some short and deep, some jagged and wide. One particularly ugly slash ran from his left ankle up the hip, sliced across the ribs and chest, and stopped just short of his throat. Something gleamed white in its depths, and Sean wondered sickly if it was bone.

Blair stirred, his eyes opening, half-glazed. He smiled when he saw the wolf, then looked past him to Sean, his smile widening. "Good. Thought I felt you pass through, especially when Dad closed it behind you. Good work."

"What happened to you?" Sean choked out, thinking of all the time he'd taken passing through the spiral. If he'd been here sooner, he might've been able to help his friend.

Blair blinked at him, obviously finding it hard to focus. "Trap. He couldn't get into the spiral, but he could trap this end, so he did."

"With what?" Sean asked, wondering tiredly if they would have to fight their way back to their starting point, too.

"Over there." Blair gestured with his eyes, not moving anything else, and Sean leaned over the slight hill he indicated, then jerked back, swallowing hard and trying desperately to keep his stomach down.

"Dead," the young shaman husked, his eyes closing. "Now we can go home…" He trailed off, his eyes sliding shut, and Sean looked helplessly at him, then glanced at the wolf.

The wolf studied the young shaman's body for a long moment, then abruptly his body shimmered and was gone. An older man stood there instead, lean and well-built, wearing jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, with a flannel shirt on top. Both were torn and ripped, and red stained the edges of one slash along his left thigh. He wore his black hair in long braids down his back, and Sean saw the muscles ripple as he bent to carefully scoop Blair into his arms. Standing, he looked across at Sean, a faint smile playing around his lips as the younger man stared at him.

 _Wow_ , Sean thought numbly, unable to look away from the man. His eyes were a dark blue that matched Blair's, and there was an indefinable familiarity about him that the linguist thought would have caught his eye if he had seen him anywhere else. _He's so Blair's dad I think I would have noticed him even in a crowd_.

"Hi," the man said, his voice an easy baritone. "As you no doubt know, I'm John Lonetree, Blair's father." He gestured back across the landscape with his head, his gaze never leaving Sean. "Time we started back."

"Not a problem," the blond said numbly, turning to fall into step with him as John started forward. He couldn't help watching the man out of the corner of his eye, questions caught behind his discomfort. Although he had to admit that, when it came right down to it, he couldn't actually come up with anything to ask. What he really wanted was just to know the man, to connect. But, he reminded himself, it wasn't he who really needed to do that connecting.

As if summoned by that thought, Blair stirred, then opened his eyes. A dark blue gaze met its echo, and held for a long moment. Sean looked away, falling back a step or two.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Dad?" Blair asked, his gaze fixed on his father's.

John smiled at him. "I told you I'd kick your butt if I found you on the wrong side of that line.[1] Glad to see you listened to me."

The words washed over Blair, who just stared at him, caught in the moment. "Dad?"

John swallowed, hard, then met Blair's gaze and nodded. "Yes, Blair. Dad." His voice caught, and he coughed slightly.

The young shaman lifted a hand to touch him, halting mid-wince as pain torqued down his side at the move.

"Wouldn't do that," the older shaman advised, hastening his stride slightly. "Just lie still. I've got you."

Blair just looked at him, then smiled drowsily and snuggled closer, his eyes drooping shut. "Dad," he sighed, and was asleep.

John looked down at him, then swallowed again and strode on, blinking hard.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Maggie was waiting for them at the path's beginning, sober and unsmiling, her red hair shimmering like a halo in the sunrise behind them.

Seeing her, Sean felt his heart leap, and was unable to halt the grin that spread across his face. She cast him one thorough glance, scanning him up and down, then looked to Blair and the man carrying him.

"John," she said in greeting, and Sean's eyebrows went up as the shaman nodded to her.

"Maggie," he said with easy familiarity, stooping to lay Blair on the grass between them and dropping to one knee beside him.

"You know each other?" Sean blurted, then bit his lip and looked away, embarrassment scalding him. From the corner of his eye he saw Maggie glance at John, a faint smile turning her lips upward.

"It's difficult not to notice the wolf who keeps running through your house, Sean," she said mildly. John's lips quirked, then straightened again, and the precept looked down at Blair, her jaw tightening as she knelt to inspect his injuries. Blair stirred at her touch, and John laid a hand on his forehead. The young shaman sighed and relaxed again without opening his eyes.

John looked at Maggie. "Better that he sleep through the healing."

She nodded, then without a word held out one hand to him, placing the other on Blair's shoulder, careful to avoid any of the injuries.

John took her fingers in his, leaving his other hand on his son's forehead. Both of them closed their eyes, and Sean looked at Blair, somehow unsurprised to see the wounds closing, sealing themselves clean and unscarred. The last one to heal was the long slash from ankle to throat, and when it finally smoothed away, Sean almost expected the tired lines visible around Maggie's and John's eyes, although they both blinked out of their reverie immediately afterward.

"All right," John said, smiling. "Time to get this show on the road, and get these two back to the real world. Especially this one back to Jim," he added, ruffling Blair's hair as the younger man stirred. "He has to be going nuts."

"That he is," Maggie agreed, sitting back on her heels. "I could tell that while I was waiting for you. He'll be very glad to see his Guide."

"Surprised he wasn't here," John said musingly, then glanced at the linguist. "Not that Sean here didn't do very well indeed. You should be proud of him."

Heat rushed over Sean, and he looked down, feeling his ears pink. He could hear the smile in Maggie's voice, and the sober pride behind the soft Irish lilt as she said, "Oh, I am."

"Me, too." Blair's voice was strong again, and Sean jumped as the young shaman pushed himself to a seated position, looking around at them all. "But we've really got to talk about what I found out! Maggie, Roger's people, they–"

"Can wait," she said firmly, rising to her feet and brushing off her knees. "Our first priority is to get you both home. And you," she added to John as he stood, "wherever you need to be, which isn't here, I'm sure."

"Damn straight," the older shaman agreed, helping Blair to his feet, "and the sooner the better. We really pissed off the Hunter back there; I don't think he can get to this area since Blair killed his connection, but you never know, and I don't want to take the chance."

"Amen to that," Sean said fervently, trying not to think of a churning tornado of darkness somewhere behind them. He glanced around, but all he saw was a young land under sunrise, cool and green with rolling hills.

He jumped when a hand touched his shoulder, surprised when he looked up to find it was John's. The older shaman was sober, his dark blue eyes as intense as his son's, and just as difficult to look away from. "You did well out there, Sean. I know it wasn't easy, especially when this wasn't the first time you've had those hounds on your heels."

Sean felt Maggie's frown, but didn't look at her, just nodding at the man. "Thanks," he husked. "For all of it. We would've been dead, worse than dead, out there if you hadn't showed up."

John shrugged, releasing Sean's shoulder after a brief squeeze. "Being his father," he said, jerking a thumb at Blair, "is a full-time job."

"Huh," the younger shaman scowled. "It's probably at least half your fault, you know." His scowl broke to a grin, and he looked at his father with a light in his eyes that forced Sean to glance away. He saw Maggie do the same, then deliberately straighten her shoulders and turn back.

"All right," she said sternly. "Time to go home."

 

[1] See previous novella in timeline: _Seize the Moment_.


	11. Chapter 11

Jim sat beside Blair's bed and watched him, wondering how many times he'd done this before, and how many times he was likely to do it in the future.

_Not many._

Something in him had died today when he had rushed in the door of the workroom to find Blair talking animatedly with Maggie, frowning and puzzled over the attitude of Roger's people. He had glanced up as Jim had dropped beside him, grinning in welcome, then turned right back to the conversation. Maggie had promptly silenced him and sent him to bed, a command he had protested but followed, shepherded along to his room by a silent Jim, who had heard all about their adventure on the way, and Sean's and John's parts in it.

 _And not mine_. He took a long, silent breath, never looking away from his sleeping Guide. _I wasn't there, and it didn't matter. He didn't need me._ The thought echoed through him, and his lips thinned slightly. _He hasn't needed me. Not since joining the Legacy._

Maggie and John watched the anthropologist's back now, even Sean playing a part in that role. And then there was Blair's father, too, showing up on a regular basis. The fact that it seemed to take three or four of them to do what Jim had done didn't escape the Sentinel, but in the end it didn't matter; the point was that it got done. Blair was protected now; he was part of a team whose members were proficient in both physical and psychic backup, which was more than Jim could say, and so he could let Blair go without too much fear for his safety.

 _I'm Captain of Major Crimes. Captains don't have partners_.

_I'm a Sentinel. And he's my Guide._

But the last statement was fainter than before, and he shook his head. Being Sentinel to his Guide didn't seem as urgent now, and maybe it was time he let Blair go on to live his life, while he himself settled down to be a Captain at Major Crimes. Chances were good they wouldn't even see each other that much, unless something happened in his world that he thought was metaphysical, and then he could call Maggie.

Blair wouldn't like it, he knew, but it was better for Blair if he wasn't hung up on a Sentinel who couldn't fit in with the House or with the team. And with no metaphysical talent, he didn't have any place here.

He took a deep breath, staring at his Guide, then deliberately reached inside himself, to that deep place where their link pulsed, and visualizing it as a switch, he flipped it off.

Blair twisted, whimpering, but didn't wake, his exhaustion too deep. Jim winced at the sudden stillness inside his own soul, a frantic emptiness that he had to turn away from by main force. The night was suddenly darker, and he had to force himself to reach out to smooth Blair's hair as the younger man shifted on the bed, his fingers crooked into loose fists as he curled in on himself. Jim had to clear his voice before he could speak. "It's all right," he soothed, his touch light on his friend's head.

Blair relaxed, but a small frown remained between his eyebrows, and Jim could sense the half-tensed muscles that refused to loosen. He sighed, then, with a last pat on the anthropologist's shoulder, he forced himself to stand, holding back a groan by main effort as muscles protested.

He glanced out the window at the almost-dark sky, then at the clock on the nightstand. Its faintly gleaming digits announced the time as 8:47, and he shook his head, surprised again by how little time passed on this plane as compared to the metaphysical experience. From what he'd heard, Blair and Sean had experienced what felt like several hours' worth of adventure, and yet it had barely taken half an hour here.

He looked down again at his friend, swallowing hard. _Not my Guide. Not any more_. He couldn't force the words he wanted to say through his tight throat, so he bowed his head and turned to walk away, barely making it through the doorway before his slight headache exploded into a furious throbbing agony.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"OhmiGod."

The whisper was hushed, awed, and the three Chinese students halted in the doorway, staring.

"It's beautiful," Ho Wan whispered, his gaze sweeping over the spacious temple. "Who would've ever guessed this was here?"

"It must be the Temple of Azure Clouds," Jing Li said softly, smiling. "My grandfather used to talk about it; I always thought he was just imagining things."

"Guess not," Lin Wang answered, leaning forward as far as he could without stepping past the threshold and hungrily staring at the inscriptions on the walls. "But–"

A tremendous boom echoed through the temple, and the floor shook.

"The construction!" Ho Wan yelped, turning back the way they'd come, and the three dashed toward the noise, leaving the silent temple behind.

Bare minutes later, they exited the underground tunnels into bright afternoon sun, just in front of a driver obviously intent on knocking down and digging out the area. They jumped up and down, waving their arms and shouting, although their words were drowned out by the enormous machine fronting them.

The driver saw them and shut down the machine, then spoke into his radio. Having done that, he settled back, staring at the students, who stared right back, standing in front of the entrance to the underground with legs stubbornly spread apart and arms crossed.

An older man hurried around the machine and halted in front of them, scowling. "What's with all this?" he asked. "This is a restricted area, and you know it! Be off with you!"

"Begging your pardon, sir," Ho Wan said steadily as the man glared at them, "but you can't tear this down. We just discovered a major archaeological site in this area, and it will surely be restricted once the authorities see it."

"For crying out loud!" the man growled, putting his hands on his hips. Since he was a good six feet tall and built to muscle, the impression was something like a mountain come to Mohammed. The three students stood their ground, unmoving.

"I've got a deadline to meet, and by God I'm going to do it," the man snarled. "And no group of students is going to stop me, either! Now get out of here." Turning away, he motioned to the driver, who lazily chucked a cigarette out the side of his machine and sat up.

"But, sir–" Jing Li started, taking a step forward.

"No!" the man shouted, whirling back towards them, his gaze fierce on the young woman. "This is going to be an underground parking garage, and that's all there is to it! Now move!" He took a step forward, then went to his knees as a white shadow swept over him. He screamed.

It was over so quickly that the students and the driver had barely time to blink before the older man lay dead in front of them, bloody and broken. The white shadow started toward the machine, and Jing Li broke from her horrified daze and shouted, "No!" She raced forward, halting as close as she could get to the driver, still frozen in his seat. "No," she said to the white shadow as it hovered in front of her. "Not him! He's just doing a job; he's got nothing against you, leave him alone! Please!"

The white shadow hesitated, then abruptly vanished. In the sudden silence, there was only the sound of the driver's heavy breathing as Lin Wang and Ho Wan made their way over to them, giving the body a wide berth. "I think we had better get out of here," Lin Wang said shakily. "Talk to the police somewhere else."

"Yeah," the driver said softly above them. "I think you're right." He swung out and climbed down to them, then looked at Jing Li. "Miss, I think you probably saved my life just now; I don't really know what to say except thanks."

The young woman blushed. "You're welcome," she said, glancing back over her shoulder toward the entrance. "I'm just glad she… it… listened to me." She shook herself and turned back to them. "Come on, let's go somewhere else and call the police."

"I'll do it," Ho Wan said, putting an arm around her, which she leaned into. Digging into his pocket as they headed away from the site, he pulled out a cell phone.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 

Jim stared down at the foreman's body, half in and half out of the sharp shadow cast by the huge machine, and grimaced. He really didn't need this! The smell of blood and decomposition wafted up to him, made worse by the late afternoon heat and making his headache pulse even more viciously. He rubbed his temples, finding that the move didn't help any more now than it had earlier that morning when he'd woken in the loft, alone.

_Damn it, Chief, let me go!_

He knew that Blair had woken that morning and done something shamanistic; the switch he'd so decisively flipped off between them had started to shift toward the _on_ mode, and only his own stubbornness held it in place. He couldn't destroy the link, even if he wanted to, and that was what it would take to halt Blair's influence over it – and him. And it probably didn't help that he himself really didn't want to do this; that weakened him when it came to standing up to Blair's dynamic force of will.

But this was better for both of them, and sooner or later Blair would have to acknowledge that. And he could block his friend until then; he'd had more practice at that during his life than Blair could dream of.

He turned away from the body, wishing that he could turn away from the smell as easily, and picked his way across the construction site toward the group of three Asian students standing with the police. Rafe met him halfway, his sober gaze meeting Jim's.

"How bad is it?" Ellison asked, ignoring the skilled once-over his lieutenant gave him and the small frown that told him that the younger man had read the lines of pain around his eyes.

"Bad," Rafe said succinctly, falling into step with him as they paced toward the students. "This was broad daylight in front of several witnesses, and they all swear it's a ghost. The girl even calls it a 'her,' and says she's heard tales like this from her grandfather; seems that's how she knew what it – she – was going to do to the driver."

Jim grimaced. "Good thing she did know, or we'd have two murders on our hands."

Rafe nodded. "Yep. But she's getting bolder now, sir, and expanding her range."

Ellison sighed as they neared the group. "I know."

Rafe glanced sideways at him. "Sir– Jim," he amended at the captain's glance, "if you have any friends out there who know how to get rid of a ghost, now might be a really good time to call them in. We're really not set up to deal with this."

Jim tried not to sigh again. "I know," he said, setting his teeth. "But I don't–"

"Jim, someone here to see you."

The quietly spoken words caught his attention across the busy hum on the field, and he halted mid-sentence, glancing across the fifty-some feet to Kane, who stood looking at him from the perimeter of the site. His automatically focused Sentinel sight took in both the younger man and Maggie, standing on the other side of the softly flapping police ribbon behind him, and he stopped, Rafe halting with him.

He fought back the wave of simultaneous relief and vivid disappointment that it wasn't Blair standing there, and stomped on the glad welcome that surged through him. _Damn it, I can't look to her like I did to Simon; she's not my precept!_

"Go get her," he ordered, glancing at Rafe. "Bring her to me and the students."

Rafe lifted an eyebrow at him and nodded. "It's always good to have friends," he commented, hastily starting across the site as Jim's eyes narrowed.

He had introduced himself to the students by the time Rafe and Maggie joined him, and he waved a hand at the older woman without looking at her. "Dr. Wainwright is a consultant to the department, and may be able to help us in this matter." He glanced around at the students. "Tell us what happened with the foreman; everything that you remember, no matter how bizarre or out of the ordinary it appeared."

The students studied him for a moment, their gazes flickering to Maggie, and he glanced at the precept, wishing he'd had time for an update. Her eyes met his, concern and acceptance in her gaze, and he knew that she was aware of the situation between himself and Blair, but would wait to see the outcome. He fought back a flush, then cleared his throat and turned back to the interview.

"All right," the young Asian woman said, carefully eying him. "My name is Jing Li."

Jim's heart sank as he listened to the story, although he kept his expression neutral. Rafe was right; this was bad, perhaps very bad. The Fox Spirit was getting bolder, and if she was now deliberately targeting construction workers, it was only a matter of time before she struck again. They couldn't count on a courageous young Asian being there the next time to stand between her and her intended victims.

"The temple is the key," Maggie said calmly as they watched Rafe escort the students off afterwards. "Its threatened destruction, together with the seeming danger to people the Fox Spirit saw as her own kind, are what led to this incident."

"So if the temple is declared off-limits to construction, she might be happier," Jim concluded. "That's going to set back finishing off the renovation, which is behind anyway."

Maggie looked at him sympathetically. "Which means that the mayor will no doubt be unhappy."

"You could say that," Ellison replied, keeping his voice even with an effort. The scent of blood welled up from behind him as the CSI people passed by, mixing with the scent of newly turned earth and freshly cut grass and he fought back an urge to retch.

Maggie's cell beeped, and she turned away to answer it, leaving Jim to stand and stare across the busy field, late afternoon shadows long across it. His head hurt, hadn't stopped hurting since he'd left the House the night before, and the little sleep he'd gotten had been restless and uneasy. His eyes felt like sand, his stomach was roiling, and the memory of the snarling black wolf who had greeted him when he'd entered the loft would not leave him alone.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, suddenly, vividly wishing that he could roll time back, that this was just another crime scene, and that he could hear Simon grumbling in the close distance. He would give anything he owned to open his eyes and find Blair waiting for him, and know that together they could set out to track down this ghost.

 _If I wasn't Captain_. He smashed that thought down fast, opening his eyes as he heard Maggie hang up. The older woman's face was thoughtful, and he pushed all thoughts aside as she looked up at him.

"That was CJ," Maggie said briskly. "After long, intensive searching, she found the Fox Spirit's history. Her betrothed and two others were buried in the potter's field, which in Chinese terms means that they were denied proper burial. Because of that, he cannot rest, and neither can she. In order to lay her to rest, we must locate the bodies and give them the burial they were denied. Then we can convince her to go on, let go, and the killings will stop."

Jim gaped at her. "Just like that?"

Her lips quirked. "This _is_ what we do, Jim. We know how to find the answers, and how to execute them. CJ has sent Blair and Sean with printouts of the names we have to look for in the potter's cemetery; they should be here soon. They will go inside to this temple and find the Fox Spirit, explaining to her what we are doing."

All the alarm bells went off in Jim's brain and he opened his mouth. Maggie plowed on over him. "You and I will take the names and go search the cemetery, which I know from previous experience, and start digging up her lover. John will be preparing himself to perform the proper ceremony, and together we will all end this."

"You're going to send Blair, who's not Chinese and doesn't speak the language, in to face a ghost who can kill him in an instant?" Jim's voice was taut. "No. I won't–"

"Yes she is, and no you aren't."

Blair's words were cold with fury, and Jim felt his heart drop into his stomach. He swallowed convulsively, and saw Maggie's gaze focus past him, a neutral look that only someone who understood the bond between Sentinel and Guide could wear. He turned.

Blair stood a few feet behind him, his eyes blazing. He shifted to look at Maggie, handing her a piece of paper with Chinese script carefully emblazoned across it. "We'll meet you at the potter's field once we've found her and explained the situation." He turned toward the building, glancing back as Jim opened his mouth. "And don't say a word. You tried to sign off as my Sentinel, so you don't get the right to stand up as my Blessed Protector. Not any more." He swung around, heading off toward the building, a very quiet Sean at his back.

Jim closed his mouth, shame scalding through him.

"Let's go," Maggie said quietly, turning to head toward the perimeter.

"Well, Ellison, the mayor is _not_ going to be happy with you about this!"

Jim gritted his teeth as Allison's voice blasted straight through his head, forcing his throbbing headache to such a pitch that little white stars danced around the edges of his vision. He was only peripherally aware of Maggie's deliberate brush against him, but the sting of energy across his skin brought him out of the almost zone-out, or worse, and he took a deep breath, hauling himself back from the edge by main force. He was dimly aware of Blair's halting at the entry to the building and his glance back at them. The soft wash of caring swept across him, leaving him with a faint hope that they might still have something between them, and he spoke without thinking.

"I'm going to stop the killings, and if you don't like it, you know what you can do with it."

Allison's eyes narrowed. "Would you care to rephrase that, _Captain_?"

"No." Jim turned to follow Maggie, forcibly burying the urge to tell her in even more explicit language what she could do with her ideas.

"I think perhaps you should. And you can explain where you think you're going." Her voice was calm and deadly, and Jim gritted his teeth, hearing the enamel squeak. If he didn't speak now, he knew, with an utter certainty, that his job was toast.

_Like I care!_

But he did care. More to the point, these were his people on the field around them, and he was damned if he was going to leave them to the tender mercies of the mayor's idea of leadership. So he turned back, noticing that Blair still stood in the entryway to the building, his gaze fixed on the Sentinel. "I'm doing my job," he said through his teeth. "And when I'm done, the killings will stop. That should make the mayor happy."

"Where are you going?" she demanded, her gaze slipping to Maggie, who stood a few feet away, waiting. "And why is a civilian behind the police lines – again? You have a bad habit of inviting the world into a crime scene, Ellison – a habit you will have to break if you expect to keep this job."

Jim looked at her. "I didn't invite everyone." He held her eyes until she got the point, then as she flushed scarlet he turned away, falling into step with Maggie and ignoring the angry glare that followed him across the site.

Maggie looked up at him after they ducked under the tape, her lips twitching as she dug into her pocket for her car keys. "My, Jim, you do have a talent with words."

Unable to think of a reply, he merely grunted, aware without looking that Blair had vanished inside the building. To keep his mind away from that, he chose a random question. "Why 'm I going with you to the graveyard?" _Instead of… something else?_ He winced away from his own inner answer. _Because Blair wouldn't want me with him now anyway. I gave up that right._

Pain splayed down his back, driven by spasming muscles, and he jerked his mind out of it, focusing on Maggie's answer as they neared her car, hearing the clicks as she unlocked it.

"…Sentinel."

"What?" he asked, wondering if he'd zoned.

Maggie sent him a measuring glance so like Blair's that Jim's heart clenched. "Because I could use a Sentinel," she repeated as they halted beside her small car, each of them opening a door and sliding inside. She started the vehicle, then smiled faintly at his blank look and expanded on her answer as she pulled out. "It's almost sunset, Jim. The light is failing fast, and the potter's field is set behind a hill. It's probably already in shadow. The gravestones are old, the inscriptions worn and difficult to read, and my eyes are older. John will be there, but he is busy preparing for the ritual. I could really use your Sentinel sight to locate the correct gravestone, and your strength to dig up the grave."

Jim digested that for a moment as he eyed the city streets they drove through, buoyed by a totally illogical lift of the heart at the idea that he wasn't just a strong back. His own gifts mattered, even if it was only this one time, for this one task."

" _You_ matter, Jim." Maggie's voice was quiet, almost Sentinel soft, and he glanced at her in shock. Only Blair had ever been able to read him that easily.

" _You_ always matter, Jim," the older woman repeated as she swung into another parking lot, this one much smaller and older than the one by the renovation. "For all that you can do, and for all of who you are."


	12. Chapter 12

"We understand," Blair said, trying to look as trustworthy and relaxed as he could while simultaneously staying ready to run if the Fox Spirit dove at them. "Really, we do. Your lover was buried improperly, and his spirit and yours can't rest until things are made right."

The young woman floating in the corner of the temple stared at him, frowning, and he held her eyes, trying to convey his acceptance of her. "Sean," he said lowly as the linguist finished translating his words, "how're we doing, do you think?"

Sean didn't look at him, focusing on the spirit, who had abruptly broken into a rush of Chinese. He listened for a long moment, then said softly, "Not so good. I don't think she gets that we're here to help."

"Definitely not so good," Blair muttered, raising his voice and breaking into her speech when she paused. "We want to help you! Friends of ours are at the potter's field where your lover was buried, working to lay him to rest so that both of you can go on, together."

Sean's voice was calm as he translated the words, but the anthropologist could hear an edge of strain to it as he finished. "I don't think she's buying," he added in a near whisper just before the Fox Spirit shrieked, then soared higher in the temple, moving toward them.

"Actually," Blair said dryly, his feet poised to run, "I think I got that part."

The young woman suddenly dove at them, and they ran.

A cold frisson of honest terror washed over Blair as he tried to duck under what small cover was available, knowing at the same moment that it was hopeless. This was a ghost, after all – she could probably go right through anything he could hide behind, and for a second all he could feel was a searing regret for the chasm that lay between himself and his Sentinel. The block that Jim had tried to put into place was weakening by the hour now, and with Blair's death it would go down completely, quite possibly dragging Ellison into his Guide's last moments whether the Sentinel wanted to share them or not. _Sorry, Jim,_ Blair thought as the white shadow swept over him. _I'm so damn sorry._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim stumbled, falling to one knee beside the grave he was digging up, hunching over himself as terror, regret, and love blossomed through him in steep waves.

_Sorry, Jim. I'm so damn sorry._

He closed his eyes as the switch he had flipped to off suddenly disintegrated and the active link torched through him. Blair's bitter remorse poured over him, his Guide's spirited enthusiasm for life held in abeyance by the white shadow that Jim saw through his eyes as they knelt in the temple, one in spirit, waiting for the death that would claim them both.

There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say to halt the end, and in that moment, facing death together, Jim held his Guide close, no barriers between them, forgiven and forgiving in one swift, instantaneous blaze of understanding and communion.

The white shadow paused over them for an eternity, and then was gone, flickering through the wall like ball lightning, there and gone, and the room around them was still and silent in the dusky gloaming.

There was no time for relief as Blair's consternation flared through them both. _Jim, she's on her way there!_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ellison opened his eyes, finding Maggie crouched beside him, frowning in the first open display of worry he'd ever seen her wear. Seeing him blink at her, she reached to touch his shoulder, then hesitated, a rare uncertainty flickering past her expression.

He cleared his throat, aware of the rocks digging into his knees, the darkness that was quickly deepening around them, and the half-dug grave in front of him. And aware as well of Blair's presence in his mind, warm and solid in a way that he knew he could never shut out again. "She's coming," he said hoarsely, then coughed, shaking his head.

Maggie pushed herself to her feet, then looked down at him, the deep concern in her eyes easy to read.

"They're okay," he said, feeling Blair's assurance of that fact as Sean limped over to join the anthropologist, bruised from his wild leap for cover but none the worse for wear except for that.

The older woman nodded, quick relief flickering through her eyes, there and gone as new tension rushed in to take its place. In that moment Jim saw the precept, and the solid, unwavering strength it took to stand in that place, and leader though he himself was, he shrank from the role. Being Captain was one thing, and he could lead in the normal, everyday world; but being responsible not only for the lives of those under him but for their souls as well – that was something else again, and he knew he never, never wanted to even get close to that precipice – his sanity couldn't handle it.

But he could work under her.

He wasn't given time to ponder the thought; an earsplitting shriek rang out around them, and he ducked as the Fox Spirit dove on him.

"Mi Zhou!"

Maggie's harsh tone lashed the name across the dark cemetery, and the young woman paused in midair, turning to stare at her. Jim held still, feeling Blair's held breath resonate with his own.

"You have no call to harm us." The precept's voice was as sharp as Simon's could be when one of his own deserved it, and the spirit drifted closer to her. Jim stood, lifting the shovel from where he had dropped it, as quietly as possible, then took an almost silent step forward and waited, resting the tool in the hole he had yet to finish.

"We are here to help," Maggie said, her voice resonating in a manner that Jim knew would hold his complete attention if she ever used it on him. "And we are your friends. This man," she waved a hand at John, standing ready a few feet away, dressed in the traditional priest collar, "will aid you in properly burying your lover, and in helping you to pass on to where you need to go."

The Fox Spirit drifted a little closer, her face pensive and troubled. Wanting to hope, Jim realized, and not sure how.

She turned to study Jim, who stood ultra still and tried to think friendly; a little difficult for a Sentinel who'd just seen his Guide threatened by this same ghost. Somehow his feelings didn't seem to matter, though; she smiled at him, her nod almost shy, and he tried not to frown as confusion touched him.

Her gaze moved on to John, and she drifted toward him, kneeling and obviously willing to wait. Jim took a breath and lifted the shovel, driving it into the hard-packed earth and dumping the resulting loose dirt off to the side where it wouldn't slide into the hole again. He felt Blair's tension ease with his own as he bent to the work, although his Guide didn't slow his pace as he exited the building into the construction site, Sean's arm over his shoulder. Jim blinked at the sudden surge of bright light and flashing police strobes that caught him unawares before Blair eased him out of the link and softly closed the door between them. He could still feel Blair's presence as his friend helped Sean toward their car, parked close by the site, but the experience wasn't direct, and he relaxed into the silence and darkness surrounding him, knowing that the shaman would be there soon.

His shovel struck something hard, and he tapped along the bottom of the hole, his hearing picking up the sounds of disintegrated wood under the soft thud. Having been tutored in his role, he turned to the stack of wood he'd gathered and placed next to the grave, and heaved it into the hole, carefully placing tinder and smaller branches on top of the pile, then stepped back, brushing his hands off on his pants and nodding to John.

The priest paced forward, chanting softly, then halted next to the grave and knelt, carefully inserting incense sticks in the ground and proceeding to light them. He waited until they were burning well, then blew them out, waving the resulting smoke over the grave.

Jim backed away, his eyes watering from the intense scents, trying not to sneeze.

John leaned over the grave and lit a match, setting fire to the tinder before standing. Flames ate into the pile, gaining strength as it fed on the larger pieces of wood. He stepped back as the fire licked upward and turned to face the young woman, who knelt close to him, her head bowed as he spoke to her.

She raised her head and nodded, tears running down her face, and Jim quickly looked away, abruptly wondering how he would have dealt if he had had to watch Blair die by violence and be dumped in a grave without a proper funeral. What they had wasn't the same as being lovers, but still, Blair was Guide to his Sentinel, and he knew how he would have felt – powerless, grieving, and angry with a white-hot fury that would never have faded. Given that, he could understand how she might have attacked anyone and everyone who resembled those who had done this to her loved one, and for the first time, he was glad to be a part of this endeavor. Laying her lover to rest and helping her to go on suddenly gave him a good feeling, one very close to the warmth he had rescuing a kidnap victim or hostage, and he smiled as John started chanting again, a note in the priest's voice letting him know that the ritual was almost at an end.

The young woman rose, floating over to the grave, her fingers reverent as they passed through the crumbling wood. She looked up and across at Maggie, bowing her head, then looked straight at Jim, who was suddenly aware of Blair sliding into place beside him. Her glance moved from Jim to Blair, and she smiled, the shy wonder in the expression making him flush even without understanding it.

John's chanting rose, and she turned back to him, sobering, then soared away from the coffin, and as the priest's words hit a high note, a crack of bright light opened in the air ahead of her. She let out a wordless cry, darted through it, and was gone.

Jim lowered the hand he had raised against the light, blinking as his dark-adjusted Sentinel sight tried to deal with the abrupt changes, and felt Blair move closer, his hand closing around Jim's wrist. "Easy," the Guide murmured, and Ellison looked down at him, shame scorching through him again as his eyes cleared.

Blair smiled at him and shook his head. "None of that," he said softly, his gaze holding Jim's. Warmth flooded through Ellison, and he relaxed into the link, following Blair's tug without protest back into the union they had found in the temple. It was like merging into a single droplet of warm water, a oneness that was soothing, relaxing, and ultimately freeing.

Jim blinked out of it to find that only seconds had passed, and Maggie was only now turning toward them after talking with John. Sean stood close by, eying them, but the young linguist glanced away before Jim could do more than flush.

"So, ready to go home?" Maggie said cheerfully, raising her voice to include all of them, but keeping her gaze on Blair and Jim.

Assorted noises of assent answered her, and she led the way back to the parking lot, where the group shifted among the cars located there. Sean and Maggie were in one car, John in another, and Blair and Jim in the last.

Walking over to their chosen car, Jim hesitated, suddenly remembering. _I'm Captain. I have a crime scene to supervise_.

He had completely forgotten everything except the Fox Spirit, and he bit back a groan as the evening he had unconsciously visualized – going back to the House with Blair, having supper together in their quarters, the long talk he knew they were going to have – all vanished, replaced instead with an image of the construction site, many busy people, flashing lights and the smell of blood. And Allison Exeter.

_God, I hate this!_

He wearily squashed the thought, waving Blair to the driver's side and heading toward the passenger door instead. The shaman gave him a long, steady look, then changed his path before Jim could do more than wonder just how much of his thoughts had passed down the link.

A few minutes later Blair pulled over next to the crime scene, which was still alive with police strobe lights, and looked at Jim. "Your stop," he said with a neutrality that Ellison could tell was forced. "Will you be home later?"

By home he meant the House, and Jim, knowing that, swallowed. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I could be here till late, so I might just go back to the loft; it's closer."

A flash of disappointment touched Blair's eyes, but he nodded. "Okay. But I'll see you tomorrow at the latest."

Jim looked back at the noisy scene before him. _I hope so_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 _This isn't working_ , Jim thought wearily as he slammed the door to the truck and headed toward the loft. The neighborhood around him was silent with the stillness he expected at 3:30 a.m., and he sighed as he made his way up the stairs, one hand on the railing to take some of his weight.

 _I can't keep doing this._ He unlocked and pushed open the door to the building, turning down the hallway toward the loft. _I can't keep being Captain and working with the Legacy – something's going to give, and at this rate it's going to be me. And I can't do that to Blair._

He reached the loft and fitted the key in the door, twisting the knob and stepping inside the darkened room. His eyes automatically shifted to take in the lowered light available, and the room was suddenly visible. He dropped his keys in the dish beside the door as he closed it behind himself, sliding home the deadbolt at the same time. Shuffling through the kitchen, he didn't bother turning on a light, glad of the soothing darkness after the chaotic night.

At least Allison hadn't been there – a not-so-small mercy in a very long night full of sensory input that had threatened, again and again, to wash him over the edge into a zone out. He was pretty sure he _had_ zoned once or twice, but his detectives had brought him out of it pretty quickly. One time it had been Rafe pinching him when a siren had gone by, yanking his attention out of the conversation they'd been having. Another time it had been H stepping on his foot when one of the police cars had backed out of the parking lot, shining its lights straight into his face. And the last time it had been Kane, blowing gum-cinnamon-scented breath into his face at the end there.

By that time he'd just been too tired to hold his own against the constant barrage, and even Blair's warm presence in the back of his mind couldn't help him hold on. The only reason his men had been able to pull him out of the zone-outs so easily was, he knew, because of the union he and his Guide had shared earlier; without that, he might have been lost to everyone but Blair.

After Kane had yanked him out of the blankness, he had been unable to deny Rafe's request that he just go home and leave the scene to them. "Let us do our jobs, Jim," he had urged, and Jim, too tired and worn to argue, had agreed, heading for the parking lot and his truck.

Now, as he sank down into his cushioned armchair, a small glass of lemonade in hand (he didn't dare try liquor, not when he was this tired, not without Blair around), he faced the glaring truth. _I can't be Captain._

It was a statement that made hash of all his career assumptions, all his understanding of himself and his future, all his hopes and dreams for himself.

He needed Blair to _do_ his job, but even his Guide's presence wasn't enough to feel like his job was worth doing when his heart wasn't in it. And the last week or so had driven home the fact that, whether he liked it or not, being Captain of Major Crimes was simply not a job he could do.

Not and keep his sanity.

The knock on the front door was soft, but it reverberated through his head for several long seconds before he could find his feet and pad over to look through the keyhole.

John smiled back at him, tired lines around his mouth. A black wolf stood beside him, and Jim swallowed, then sighed, unlocking the door and opening it. "Can't this wait?" he asked, unable to put much annoyance into the tone; that just took too much energy.

The priest blinked at him, obviously adjusting to the lack of lights in the loft, then said lightly, "Oh, well, it wasn't my call." He gestured to the wolf standing silently beside him. "This a friend of yours? He seemed pretty desperate to talk to you."

Jim stared at him, then down at the wolf, who met his eyes, teeth slightly bared. A sudden memory touched him, and he frowned, looking back at John. "I remember you saying once that you were a medium. You weren't kidding?"

"Nope," the older man said, shifting his feet. "Can we talk about this inside?"

"Sure," Jim said numbly, stepping back and motioning them in. Bracing himself, he moved over and flicked on a small light, keeping his own eyes closed while he did so. He heard the door shut and the lock click, then John settled in one of the armchairs, sighing softly.

Ellison squinted at the light, then turned to seat himself in the other armchair, blinking as his eyes adjusted. "What's going on?"

The priest sighed, glancing at the wolf, who had taken the sofa and stretched out on it. "Your friend here seemed to have something he wanted you to hear and he didn't want to wait until you came back to the House next time."

Jim looked at the wolf, who looked steadily at him, then glanced back at Father Farr. "Why didn't he just come talk to me? I mean, I've talked to John several times."

The priest sighed, rubbing his temples with one hand. "But in all those times you were in an altered state, correct?"

Jim opened his mouth, then closed it, thinking. The first time he'd met John had been in a nightmare version of Vietnam, locked into Blair's brain through a computer and a whole lot of drugs.[1] The next time had been with Roger…[2] Uh, no, that had been the wolf, not the man. _Blair_ had seen John recently, but the only time Jim had actually met him had been that first time.

"Yeah," he admitted. "I was. And it was just once, now that I think about it. Guess I'd forgotten that."

Farr shrugged, smiling. "John has a very strong spirit, one that comes across in wolf form. You might easily have forgotten that you only met him once as himself."

Jim shook his head, looking thoughtfully at the wolf. "I guess I did."

The wolf opened his mouth in a canine smile, tongue lolling between sharp fangs.

"Well," the priest commented, "it seems that he wants to talk with you."

Jim rolled his eyes at the ceiling, too tired to put much energy into the gesture. "Couldn't you have just waited until I got back to the House?" he asked the wolf. "I'm sure Blair would've been more than willing to take us to some space we could talk in person."

The wolf closed his jaws, curling his tongue around his lips, then snarled.

"Evidently not," Farr commented. "At any rate, shall we get on with this?"

Jim swallowed, a thrill of pure nerves running through him. "And just how do we do that?"

The priest looked at the wolf, who stood, then leaped off the couch, padding over to face him. "Like this," he said simply, and leaning back, closed his eyes.

The wolf leaped towards Farr, vanishing into the man in a way that suddenly, vividly reminded Jim of the meeting of his spirit animal and Blair's at the fountain on that long ago day, and he swallowed in a dry throat.

Farr opened his eyes and sat up.

No, Ellison realized with a shiver of atavistic terror, _John Lonetree_ opened his eyes and sat up. There was nothing of Farr in the man facing him, and Jim stared, his skin creeping. The moment was abruptly real and vivid, and he knew he would never forget the way the lamplight fell across John's knees, the siren that sounded faintly on the night air, the faint roughness of the cushions under his thighs. He stood on the edge of the abyss, suddenly aware of life, and death, and the mystery of what lay between and beyond that space, and aware, too, of the assumptions that shielded him from seeing it on an ordinary, normal day.

A day would never seem quite so normal, so ordinary, again.

"So," he said, surprised that his voice didn't shake. "You wanted to talk with me?"

Lonetree studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "I did."

The voice was subtly different from Farr's, the cadence and timbre canted in another direction, and Jim swallowed again as he realized that, for all its differences, he could _hear_ the similarity to John's own, echoes of Vietnam rolling through him.

"So talk," he said tiredly.

"I'm leaving," John said bluntly.

Jim jerked upright, shock thrusting out exhaustion. "What? Why?" Belatedly remembering John's status, he added, "How?"

Lonetree smiled a little, sadness in his eyes. "Oh, not right away. But it's coming; I can feel it." He leaned forward, fixing his gaze on Jim. "The point is, Ellison, I won't be here for Blair forever. So don't rely on me to always be there to pick up the slack."

Jim closed his mouth. "But you're dead," he said numbly. "How can you leave?"

A sparkle of laughter touched John's eyes. "It's close to time for me to move on, Jim." Ellison opened his mouth, but the shaman beat him to it. "That doesn't stop just because I'm dead, you know."

The Sentinel shook his head, trying to take in the words. "Isn't dead about as, uh, 'moved on' – as you can be?"

"Nope," John said succinctly, holding up a hand as Jim would have pressed the subject. "Enough about me; you'll have to wait to find your own answers after you've died. In the meantime, let's talk about what this means for you."

Jim gave him a hard look. "Let's talk about what this is going to mean for Blair. He's just getting to know you, to trust that you'll be there for him. Now you're saying that you're walking away from that? That's pretty low, Lonetree."

John sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know how it sounds, Jim, and I'm sorry. But you have to remember that the two of you had a long history of accidents and adventures before I showed up. I was only aware of it recently – as I said to Blair when we met, I'd checked in on him during childhood, but figured that his life had calmed down once he hit college, so I went away for a while."

He shook his head at Jim's level stare. "No, I'm not going to tell you about that. Suffice it to say that it was nail-biting to watch Blair's life with you happen and not be there for him, but that's the price you pay for being here and keeping tabs on those who matter to you. But when he hit Vietnam, I had my way in."

He looked at Jim. "And I'm honest enough to say that I probably would have taken it anyway, even if I hadn't known that without me he couldn't survived." His eyes darkened and he looked away. "I wanted to know my son," he said lowly, "and I would have found some way to pull that off, whatever the price to me personally. And I enjoyed hanging around with him."

He raised his head and stared at Ellison, his gaze abruptly narrow and hard. "And you're a fine one to talk about my leaving and what it'll mean to Blair."

Heat flushed up Jim's cheeks, and he looked away. "It felt like the right move at the time," he said lowly, aware of how lame it sounded.

"I'm sure it did," John agreed, a tightness to his words that made the Sentinel want to crawl into a space between dimensions and never come out. "I know you wouldn't have done what you did if you had been thinking with your right mind, but you don't have any idea what it did to Blair, to wake up and realize that his Sentinel, his 'Blessed Protector,' had simply walked away and had no intention of coming back."

Jim lowered his head, studying the carpet intently. Shame stole anything he might have said, and he couldn't find the words anyway. Leaving Blair seemed like the height of folly now, and he couldn't imagine how he had thought he could ever make it stick in the first place. He wasn't even sure why he'd done it.

"Except that it seemed right to you."

Ellison glanced up, his startled gaze meeting the shaman's for a small moment before he looked down again. He nodded.

"Because you saw yourself as useless," John said softly. "You weren't there for him that evening, and he got home anyway, without you." He took a breath. "Not much of a team player, are you?"

Jim surged to his feet, striding over to the sliding glass door and staring through the glass to the twinkling lights beyond. His jaw hurt, and he jammed his fists into his pockets.

"The last time you were part of a team, they died and you lived." John's voice was remorseless, and Jim gritted his teeth. "And so, at some deep level of your soul, you decided you'd never be part of a team again, never lose that completely again. And you didn't. Until Blair."

"That's different!" Jim found the words jerked from him without knowing they were coming, and he closed his lips on anything further, refusing to turn around and face the man, the shaman, the ghost, who saw too much, too deeply.

"Sure it is," John agreed, his voice even. "It was Blair. And what he gave you was a single place to stand, a Sentinel, alone against the world. Over time, he managed to find a way to convince you his place was beside you, and you gave in pretty easily – after all, this is Blair we're talking about, and refusing him is pretty damn hard. And besides, he was Guide to your Sentinel, and you couldn't deny him that. But trust a group, trust the Legacy, with yourself? And in particular, with Blair? No way. No can do."

Jim bore down on his silence, hating the feelings of nakedness that swarmed through him with the shaman's words.

"So you fought them, tooth and nail, from the beginning," John went on. "And when at last Blair proved to you that he belonged there with them, and that he was happy there, you gave in. And Maggie startled you enough to break through your defenses and you actually started to consider that there might be a place in the Legacy with your name on it."

Lonetree was silent for a long moment, then said gently, "It's not like you didn't want to belong with them, after all. You were lonely, and they filled a need you probably didn't even realize you had."

"I don't belong with them!" Jim found himself standing at the back of the couch, staring over it at the man.

John looked at him, and Ellison tried to hold the gaze, hot anger spurring him on, until finally he glanced away.

"Blair's interest was always in the Sentinel," the shaman said quietly, "but what he didn't talk about that much was the Sentinel's place in the tribe, as one of them."

"Sentinels aren't of the tribe," Jim contested, his stomach churning.

John snorted. "Of course they were. Why else would they have cared about their people?" He shook his head. "Those were his parents, siblings, friends, perhaps even lovers. Sentinels came from the tribe so that they were of it, caring for all the people within it, and bound to all those people by the bonds that a community creates. A Sentinel would have shared in their rituals, their joys and sorrows, and would have known those people as his own. Of course," he added, "that was a necessary safeguard, too, on both sides. Evolutionarily, the Sentinel was bound to the community, the tribe, and cared for them, insuring that his or her talents would be used for their benefit, not his own. He was thus less likely to abuse his powers at their expense. And the community, in turn, would have protected their Sentinel for all of the same reasons."

"The Guide did that," Jim growled, his heart thudding in his chest.

John gave him a long, steady look. "The Guide had a particular talent for doing that, yes. He and the Sentinel had a bond that no one else could duplicate, and ways of caring for each other that the other members of the tribe couldn't participate in. But both Guide and Sentinel were a part of the tribe, and the tribe was part of them – one whole thing."

Jim bent his head, staring down at the couch. He could feel his lungs, tense and laboring, could hear his heart, thunderous in his ears. Maggie's words ran through him, echoing in the depths of his mind. _A whole is made up of parts, and each of the parts carries the whole with him, whether they will it so or not._

"Sit!" John barked, and the drill sergeant command was so familiar that Ellison found himself moving to do just that, circling the couch and dropping into its cushions. He stared at his feet, then raised his head and looked at John, unable to hide the helpless feelings churning through him.

"What do I do?" The words were spoken before he realized them, and his gaze dropped.

"Be who you are," John said softly. "A Sentinel, born to the tribe and part of it. Your path is to walk by the side of your Guide, together with company that you trust."

Jim closed his eyes, red darkness behind them. "I can't," he whispered.

"Yes, you can."

"No, I can't."

John sighed. "You don't have a choice, Jim. You are who you are, and this is the only path open to you. Let go and take it. Trust in your teammates, your tribe, to catch you, because they will. Trust Blair." Jim could feel the shaman's gaze on him, gentle yet searing. "Let go, Jim."

Ellison leaned his head on the palm of his hand, pressing hard, as if the pressure would relax the headache throbbing through him. Opening his eyes, he looked at the world through his fingers, wincing at the bars of light. A black muzzle nudged his knee and he blinked at it, then dropped his hand, staring at the black wolf who stood before him, tail waving gently. Blue eyes met his and he blinked, then glanced up.

Farr studied him thoughtfully, and Jim jerked in a breath, glancing back at the wolf, who opened his jaws in a canine grin, then nudged Ellison's knee again and turned, vanishing into the darkness in one swift leap.

"Damn it," the Sentinel grimaced, rubbing his eyebrows with one hand, "I hate it when he does that."

"John likes the last word," the priest agreed, his lips quirking. "Shamans are like that."

"I've noticed," Jim grunted, trying not to sigh. "Must be genetic."

Farr's grin flashed and he nodded. "Probably."

"How much did you hear?" Ellison mumbled, unable to meet John's eyes.

The priest shrugged. "Most of it." He met and held Jim's surprised glance, smiling. "Yeah, I know. Most mediums say they don't remember what they say or do while channeling. I've never found that to be true, although I don't know if I'm unusual or if it's just that mediums in general have found it's safer to claim that they don't remember."

"Probably the latter," the captain grumbled, glancing away. "But maybe it's a Legacy thing, too." He hesitated, then forced the question. "So what's your take on this?"

The silence drew his eyes and he looked up, to find John's gaze sober on him. "My take?" the man asked quietly. "My take is that it's O-dark-thirty in the morning, you're exhausted, I'm exhausted, and the new day isn't that far off." He paused, then added, "And he's right."

Ellison blinked at him, the words catching him hard after the practical details of the sentence before.

"We're your tribe, Jim." Farr's voice was very serious, and Jim couldn't look away from the blue eyes meeting his own. "And you're part of ours. Without you, we're less, and without us, you're lost. And without you, Blair is lost." He stood, looking down at the other man. "Come join us, Jim. Be the Sentinel you were born to be. I promise you, you won't regret it. Let go."

Jim tore his gaze away, his chest hurting. "I don't know how!" he snarled.

"Then come let us teach you," John replied, not fazed at all by the explosion. He smiled a little as Jim looked up at him. "Hell, Ellison, we're the experts at letting go. Remember, a lot of us come into the Legacy from outside, and we know exactly what it's like to take that leap. And you're ahead of most of us; Blair's already there, walking point for you."

The almost-echo of Maggie's words caught Jim on the quick, and he blinked at the priest, confusion and hope roiling through him in one embroiled mass of feeling.

"Of course she talked to me," Farr said gently. "What kind of counselor would I be if my precept didn't tell me those things I need to know to help the members of my team?" He studied Jim for a long moment, then nodded sharply. "Come out to the House today, Jim. Talk to us. We've been waiting for you."

And with that he rose, moving far more lithely than one might expect from a man of his years, and stepping to the door, twisted the doorknob. He paused as the door swung open, and glanced back. "Don’t forget to lock this after me, all right?" he said sternly, waiting for Jim's numb nod before he stepped through it. "And get some sleep before you go into work today. After all, there's not going to be any killings for you to worry about; the Fox Spirit is gone, and she's not coming back. Your job is done." He let himself out, closing it behind him.

Jim stared at the door for a long few seconds, then, hearing the rumbled, "Ellison…" from beyond the door, he stumbled to his feet and made his way over to it, sliding the deadbolt home.

He listened to the footsteps pace along the hallway outside, into the elevator and a few minutes later march through the parking lot outside, heard the car start and swing out of the lot. Only then did he move, turning with all the grace of an automaton toward the loft and walking toward it. Flipping off the light as he passed, he made his way up the stairs and to his bed, pausing just long enough to strip off his clothes and shoes before falling into it. He didn't even remember hitting the pillow.

 

[1] See previous novel in timeline: _Seize the Moment_.

[2] Se previous story in timeline: "Roger's Calling," in _Sensory Overload #9_.


	13. Chapter 13

Sean chose one of the cushioned chairs on the patio, one where he could look over the patio and the wilderness past its bounds, then tilted the chair back against the wall of the House, breathing in the quiet of the fall morning. Everyone else was still sleeping or off doing their own task, so he was alone, which was just the way he wanted it.

It had been almost a full day from his waking after his and Blair's nearly disastrous trip to scout a path to Roger's domain, and this was the first time he'd had to think about what he'd discovered there. Yesterday had been ultra busy with the Fox Spirit and laying her to rest, and all of them had been thoroughly involved in resolving her crisis. And then there was Blair and Jim.

Sean shivered. Now that had been bad. Blair had been furious, more angry than the linguist had ever seen him, but it had been the pain radiating from the anthropologist that had made Sean's throat hurt.

But at least that was over. Blair and Jim had mended their fences, although Sean wasn't at all sure he wanted to know just how, considering he'd seen the time they'd spent together and it sure hadn't looked like they'd had anything like a decent conversation, let alone enough time or connection to rebuild what they had. But somehow, someway, they had, and he had a strong suspicion it hadn't been done through ordinary means. But the important thing was that it was done.

Now, though… Now he had the time to think about himself. Himself and the lies that someone, maybe everyone, had told him about himself and his experiences, maybe even about his abilities. About dreams, and darkness, and fear, and hounds slavering on his heels.

He was half-afraid to go to sleep now, worried that he'd find himself back in that shadowland, running for his life and his soul, and hearing behind him that hideous, light laughter while someone screamed, and screamed, and screamed–

He yanked himself out of it, opening his eyes to the calm morning sunlight that washed the patio, shivering a little at the crisp tang to the air. Maggie sat beside him, and he jumped as Blair exited the House onto the patio, making his way over to another chair set close by Sean's own.

There was silence for a long moment, until Sean finally broke it, looking over at Maggie. "Why?" he asked simply.

The precept sighed, suddenly looking far older than her years. "'Why' is a story with many reasons, not all of them good."

"Maybe it's time to share them," Blair said softly.

"No 'maybe' about it," Sean grunted, holding her eyes when she glanced at him. "It's my story, Maggie. Don't you think it's about time I knew it?"

She sighed again, reaching up to rub her temple, and for a moment Sean wondered if she had a headache, then pushed the flare of concern aside. He wanted answers, and right now he didn't care how she felt about giving them.

"You were four," she said bluntly, looking at him, but including Blair with occasional glances. "You'd been sent to bed that night at your usual bedtime, and the rest of us had gone down to the workroom, as we called it, to build a circle and seek out the Hunter."

She paused, her gaze abstracted. "This was at the Denver House, and I wasn't a precept then. We had reports of a series of murders that we suspected were the ritual slayings of the Hunter, who came out into the world to seek out a number of victims every one hundred fifty years or so. The Legacy had tried to stop him the last time, but we failed and lost one of our own doing it. But my group had read all the journals of those who had survived the attempt and talked it over amongst ourselves, and had a plan that we thought had a good chance of working."

She took a deep breath, looking to Sean with her lips set. "And it did. But we hadn't bargained on your dreaming your way into his country, or on his hounds sensing you and pursuing you." She shook her head. "So your parents raced up the stairs to your bedroom, praying they wouldn't be too late, while the rest of us worked to hold back the hounds.

"After all," she pointed out wryly at Sean's surprised glance, "there was no reason they couldn't run down a four-year-old within seconds, unless they were slowed or stopped."

Sean shuddered, remembering now how the howls had occasionally broken off into sharp yips, and how the ground had seemed to shift under his feet from smooth to rough and twisted as he passed over it.

"Fortunately, because you'd dreamed yourself into his domain, all your parents had to do was to wake you up, and you'd be safe in the House again. At the moment that that happened, the rest of us withdrew and closed the passage he had used to reach us, and he fell back into his own domain, furious and unable to enter our world again."

"Never?" Blair asked softly, hiking his eyebrows.

Maggie sighed. "As far as we can tell, yes, never. We destroyed his avenue to us, and he's never shown any ability to build passageways, only to find them."

"That was how he could find the other end of the spiral to your place," Sean pointed out to Blair, glad to focus on something other than his own nightmares for a moment.

Blair glanced at him, then back to Maggie. "There's more, isn't there. The Hunter must've been distracted, or he would've been right behind the hounds and Sean wouldn't've had a chance."

It wasn't a question and the precept sighed. "Yes, that's true."

The linguist shivered, trying not to see his nightmare again.

"Our original intention was to track him as he played with his most recent victim," Maggie said steadily. "We hoped that we could help that victim to escape, but it was obvious by the time we got there that he was too far ensnared in the Hunter's net to win free, so we moved to our secondary plan, which was to kill him and then destroy the passage.

"However, Sean's entry into the situation forced us to break the circle, so we had to go to a much more risky alternative. Two of us worked to distract the Hunter, others of us killed the victim, his parents woke Sean up, and all of us destroyed the passage the Hunter used, sealing him into his own domain."

Sean shivered again, now understanding the why of another part of his dream – the almost-whisper that had run under his hearing, echoing as if from a distance. _Hurry, hurry, hurry_ , it had urged, fear and caution and the feel of a crushing race against time driving the needle spike of his own panic deep into his brain. He remembered, too, as his father had lifted him from the dream, the shriek cut off short and the bellow of rage that had reverberated across the landscape.

The whisper was, he knew, his own sense of the Legacy members and their mission as, dangerously split in their efforts, some among them slowed the hounds on his trail, others distracted the Hunter, while still others rushed to kill the victim and destroy the Hunter's passageway, all of them racing against the speed the Hunter could bring to bear when he discovered their plot and turned to destroy them.

Sean opened his eyes, surprised to find them closed, and looked at Maggie. "I understand why you didn't want to tell a four-year-old kid that his nightmare was real, but for crying out loud, Maggie! I'm twenty-five now; just when were you going to let me know?"

Maggie sighed. "Sean, that encounter seriously injured you. You wandered around in a daze for the next two months, not responding to anyone, not answering to your name, hardly eating." She smiled a little at the blond's stunned look. "You are the only person living who has survived that kind of close exposure to the Hunter; most adults who experienced what you did either died with him or never recovered."

Sean swallowed. "I thought you said that some of you were distracting the Hunter from me, or it wouldn't have been any contest."

"No," Maggie said gently. "I said they tried."

The linguist stared at her. "You mean… he wasn't distracted?"

Maggie shook her head. "No. He was not."

"Then what was he doing?" Blair asked, although the flat tone of his voice made it clear that he suspected the answer.

The precept looked at him, then shifted her gaze to Sean. "Playing, like a cat with a mouse."

The younger man stared out over the patio, swallowing hard. "Funny," he said, distantly surprised at how even his voice was. "I don't remember him being that close."

"He didn't have to be," Maggie said simply.

Sean found no answer in himself to that, and concentrated on staring at the aspen tree leaning over the patio until he could trust himself to speak. "Is that why I don't have that many memories of that time?"

"Probably," the precept said. "We had some of the most experienced doctors in the Legacy examining you on a regular basis, and they all said that it was touch and go. No one was sure your sanity or your intelligence would recover from that experience, and it took around five months before we were fairly sure you would be all right." She met his eyes. "Under the circumstances, no one was willing to take the chance of throwing you back into that state by telling you that it had been real, especially when you didn't seem to remember it anyway. Everyone hoped the dream had simply been an aberration on your part, that you had accidentally followed your parents into that realm and couldn't find it on your own. This was particularly true as you moved into your teen years and started showing a gift for languages."

"That's not all he showed, was it?" Again Blair's voice was even, and Sean shot him a glance, wondering how much of this the shaman had figured out before now.

"No," Maggie replied, glancing at him. "He also showed the energy gift."

Sean straightened, frowning. "I thought–"

"And no one trained him in it." Blair's words were flat, and the linguist blinked as he watched his friend stare at Maggie. _Wow_ , he thought numbly, _Blair's mad at her. For me._

"No," Maggie said, her voice measured. "No one did."

"But—" Sean started.

"Why?" Blair's tone was sharper than the linguist had ever heard it, and as the younger man glanced between Sandburg to Maggie, he realized that this was Blair at his most dedicated. To leave someone untrained, uneducated, even ignorant, of the gift that was his crossed one of the anthropologist's major lines, and he was fierce in its defense.

Maggie sighed. "It was his parents' decision, made against the counsel of several of the Legacy, myself included. Several of the doctors supported it, while a few disagreed." She shrugged. "The fear was that if he was trained in the gift, he would be drawn to the Hunter again when he entered that realm, having been touched by him before."

"Was that what happened when Blair and I were there?" Sean asked, bracing himself for the answer.

Maggie spread her hands and shrugged. "I don't know. But I'll be honest and say I find it suspicious that you both ended up in the Hunter's realm."

"Then I can't–"

"No." Blair's answer cut across Sean, and the linguist fell silent, fighting back the guilt that surged through him like a black wave.

"No," the shaman repeated, glancing at Sean, then at Maggie. "It's true that I think Sean had something to do with us ending up in the Hunter's realm, but I don't think it would have happened if I hadn't jumped the wall to Roger's domain. That created a break in my connection to my own place there, and since I had brought Sean there through that connection, when I broke it, his own unresolved relationship to the Hunter was free to take us both there when I exited the wall, particularly because I'm not sure I came back through the same hole." He shifted his gaze to Sean. "But it's resolved now."

"Are you sure?" Maggie's voice was sober, and Blair looked back at her.

"Yes."

"How can you be so sure?" Sean broke in, anger and fear surging through him. "I might end up back there again anytime, especially if I'm taken there again! You can't risk that. I can't do circle work any more, I'm unreliable, and the last thing anyone needs is to be dragged back to the Hunter with me. I won't–"

"This," Blair said loudly to Maggie, overriding Sean's words, "is what happens when someone isn't trained in his gift and should have been. This should have been resolved a long time ago, never left to hang like this."

"I agree," Maggie said peaceably. "However, it was left, and he's not trained. Suppose you explain to him why you feel this was resolved."

Blair took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, but some of his frustrated energy still reverberated through his words as he turned to the linguist. "You resolved it, Sean. When you walked the spiral to escape his domain, you deliberately broke the connection between you and the Hunter by that act. It's over."

The blond stared at him, then shook his head. "You'll have to do better than that, Blair. Why would walking the spiral break whatever lay between us? I was in his power, touched by him, I would be–"

"No."

Sandburg's voice was sure and confident, and Sean's objection died. "Was it easy, walking the spiral?" Blair asked, and the younger man looked away.

"No," he said lowly.

"Let me guess," the shaman said softly. "You were fighting back your own panic – and your own memories of your younger self at the same time – while you tried not to run for the exit. You knew that he couldn't touch you inside the spiral, right?"

Sean nodded, not looking at him. "Yeah," he husked. "But I knew that if I ran and made a mistake, stepped on a line, tripped, anything like that, he could pluck me out of the spiral like a piece of cheese on a plate."

"Well put," Blair murmured. "But you didn't run, and you didn't panic, and you didn't make a mistake, and you walked into the heart of the spiral and escaped. That kind of deliberate choice is something that the four-year-old child couldn't make, and it was that child's fear that created the connection between you and the Hunter. When you walked the spiral as an adult, consciously reining in that fear with the control that maturity gave you, you put the child behind you, and that destroyed the bond you had with the Hunter." He waited until Sean looked back at him, then added, "You're free, Sean. I'd take you back into the circle with me with no hesitation."

Sean rubbed a hand across his eyes, then lowered it to blink at Blair. "Really?"

The shaman grinned. "You bet I would! You need more practice, and training…" He trailed off, glancing at Maggie, who smiled at them both.

"Yes," she said, answering the unspoken question, "I agree, he needs the training, and you're one of the best teachers we have for that."

Blair flushed, the tips of his ears turning pink. "Thanks, Maggie," he said lowly, then took a breath and glanced at Sean. "How about it?" he asked. "How do you feel about my training you in this energy gift of yours? Although," he added, looking over at Maggie, "you do this kind of thing, too, and he could probably use input from everyone who could help. And John, too, maybe–"

"What do you think, Sean?" Maggie cut in, looking to the linguist.

The blond blinked at them both. "Well, sure," he said uncertainly. "I mean, I'll take any training I can get in this kind of thing."

"Cool!" Blair enthused, pushing himself to his feet. "This'll be a lot of fun, you'll see! Come on, we might as well get started now!" He tugged Sean to his feet, and the linguist fell into step with him as he started toward the house.

"You'll enjoy this!" Sandburg's voice drifted back over the patio as he urged Sean into the house.

"Uh, Blair, just one thing."

"Yeah?"

"What _is_ this energy gift?"

Blair's laugh was cut off by the door slamming behind them, and Maggie smiled as she relaxed into her chair, the sun laying warm bars across her shoulders.


	14. Chapter 14

Jim turned into the police garage at 10:14 the next morning, lifting a hand to the gatekeeper who waved him through, then swung into his space. Killing the motor, he sat for a long moment, staring at the solid label that marked it, "Captain, Major Crimes". The name rippled through the hollowness within him, and he finally closed his eyes and leaned back, automatically seeking out the warm presence in his mind that was Blair. An affectionate tendril curled out in response, and he jerked as he fell into the link.

Late morning sunlight fell across the breakfast table, and he glanced around its circumference, noticing the three empty chairs. Two, he knew, signaled John and CJ's absence, but they were the only ones missing. Maggie sat across from Blair, with Sean between them, so whose was the empty chair?

Embarrassment washed over him at Blair's fond exasperation, and he tried to edge his way out of the link, the move much the same as turning his back on his exasperating partner when he saw too much.

Blair grinned, then putting out a hand, caught Jim's wrist and tugged, the move gentle but strong, and Ellison caught his breath as he found himself in Blair's skin, the union strong between them.

Cool air washed across him, the small breeze welcome. The scent of bacon and eggs, orange juice and milk and cereal, was strong in his nostrils, and his stomach, denied breakfast this morning for its uneasiness, grumbled. Quiet wrapped around him, birdsong vibrant in the morning, and he took a deep breath, relaxing into the peace of the place. The hum of the city was far away, easy to ignore, the mountains close upon them.

A horn suddenly blared through him, yanking him back to the police garage with a hard jerk, and he fell back into his own body with an almost soul-bruising thud that started a small headache between his eyes. Scowling, he jerked his door open and slid out, starting for the door leading into the station and into his life as Captain, aware of Blair's regret for the interrupted union as he did.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Flashbulbs popped as he stepped out of the elevator on the seventh floor, and he stopped short as a mass of reporters converged on him from their self-appointed posts outside Major Crimes, all waving their microphones and babbling questions.

"Captain Ellison, how does it feel to be a hero?"

"Did you know who the man was before you caught him?"

"Were you sorry he killed himself?"

"What are your feelings toward the mayor at this moment?"

"Did you ever believe it was a ghost?"

Jim set his jaw and forged forward, letting the questions wash over him without trying to reply. "No comment," he said again and again, until finally he managed to work his way to the closed door leading to Major Crimes and pulled it open, quickly shutting it on them before they could push inside.

Inside, the room was empty except for H and Kane and Rafe, the former two of whom were busily involved at their desks, both typing busily on what Jim knew were probably reports that would end up on his desk. Rafe sat at his own desk, his chair tilted back against the wall as he frowned at the folder in his lap and the newspaper that covered it.

All three men glanced up as Jim made his way in and smiled, Rafe bringing his chair down on all four legs and standing. Ellison nodded to everyone, unable to bring himself to smile, and turning, headed toward his office, inviting Rafe, with a jerk of his head, to join him.

"What's going on?" he asked bluntly when the door had closed behind them.

In silence Rafe laid the newspaper in front of him. Large headlines screamed, "'Ghost' Diagnosed Paranoid-Schizophrenic; Ellison Won Safety of Cascade." A smaller side column stated "Chinese Community Pleased with Win; Temple Goes To Chinese Comm Center," while another one proclaimed "James Ellison's Career Skyrockets to Success; Mayor Pleased."

Jim blinked at the newspaper, then looked at Rafe. "What the hell?"

The lieutenant's lips quirked. "Those are some friends you have, Captain. If I didn't know better, I'd say that ghost was nothing more than a delusion we were all having."

Ellison sat down, counting himself lucky to accomplish the move before his legs gave way, and pulled the paper toward himself, starting to read as Rafe stepped toward the door.

"Oh, by the way," Rafe said before opening the door, "the mayor is supposed to be meeting with you this afternoon around two. Some kind of public ceremony, publicized by the press." He flashed a grin at the Sentinel as the man looked up, frowning. "I think it's to offer you an award or something." He opened the door, turning back to add, "Oh, and our reports will be on your desk by then, too."

"Good work," Jim said automatically, looking back down at the paper.

"No problem," Rafe said cheerfully, closing the door behind him as he exited.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Half an hour later Jim leaned back, then rose and reached for his coffeepot, emptying the grounds into the trash and reaching for a new filter. The familiar ritual was comforting, grounding him in the ordinary world of work and life, and he clung to it in the face of a world gone very strange indeed.

It seemed that the night before had not happened at all as he remembered it, or at least, the events he had experienced were not the ones that the world would remember.

Around four months ago, Liu Li, a not-so-young man, had arrived in Cascade from China, rigidly proud of his heritage. He had been tracking down his ancestors, and was, as all his friends agreed, somewhat obsessive about it, although they had never guessed that he could go this far. Working his way down the ancestral chain, he had found Mi Zhou's fiancé, who, it seemed, had been his several times grandfather. When he found that his worthy ancestor had been killed by narrow-minded white people and tossed into a hastily-dug grave with no proper funeral, he snapped. Already diagnosed as a paranoid-schizophrenic by doctors at home, he abandoned his medication and, appointing himself the guardian of his people in the Chinatown community, commenced to 'guard' against all those he saw as disrespectful of their rights, and particularly, of their heritage. He met the repairmen in the tunnels where he had been hiding (or exploring the passages leading to the Chinatown renovation; the papers weren't very clear on which), and killed them when their actions after discovering a cache of Chinese artifacts revealed their intention to improperly profit from them.

From that point on, the story was the Fox Spirit's, in deed and intention. It diverged at the graveyard, where, it seemed, Jim had called on representatives of the Oran Institute to help him debunk the ghost story and track down those behind them.

 _I never knew the Oran Institute specialized in debunking paranormal frauds_ , Jim mused, still feeling somewhat numb as he watched the coffee drip.

Apparently, between themselves Jim and the Oran Institute had discovered Li's background and intentions, and succeeded in luring him out to the graveyard as they exhumed the body of his ancestor, with the stated intention of burying it again with the proper rites. As an aside, the newspaper went on to state that the Oran Institute, aware of the significance such an act would have with the Chinese community, had approached them and requested aid to perform the ritual in good faith. The community's leaders agreed, and a priest was subsequently chosen, who stood by in the graveyard, ready to perform the ritual once the body was exhumed.

Li had arrived during their exhumation, but had not ventured close enough for Jim to apprehend him until the coffin had been lifted out of the grave, at which point the ritual had begun.

Jim had waited until the burial was complete before making his move, believing that Li's defenses would be at their lowest then. They had struggled, and if the man had not been able to call upon the almost-supernatural strength of madness, the previous Army Ranger wouldn't have had a problem. However, Li managed to break free, and throwing himself onto the grave, he dug a small matchbox out of his pocket and struck one.

Ellison, back on his feet and advancing toward the man, had halted at the move, and he and the Institute members had begun trying to talk the man down from his peak of madness. Li had seemed to be listening, but then the match burnt his fingers, and he screamed and dropped it.

"He must have been planning this," Felman Drew, the director of the Oran Institute, was quoted as saying wearily, "because his clothes were obviously prepared and extremely flammable, and they went up like a pyre. He was dead before we could get the flames out."

 _And they even supplied a body_ , Jim thought as he rose to pour his coffee. _And I'd be willing to bet that it's the body of a Chinese man in his thirties or forties, here from China, and that if anyone goes to look, he's been diagnosed as paranoid-schizophrenic back home._ He carefully sugared the drink, tasted it, and sank back into his seat with a satisfied sigh. _Wonder if they even set up friends, relatives, doctors back home? And just what ties does the Legacy have to the leaders of Chinatown, that they can implicate them in this whole thing, obviously with their consent? And even a Chinese priest?_

Well, no, actually the priest didn't surprise him that much, but everything else certainly did. The newspaper even quoted Jim himself, giving his answer to why he had chosen to do this alone rather than call for backup. He had said that as a new Captain of Major Crimes, he had been unwilling to implicate his men in a trap for a so-called ghost that might or might not succeed in its objective, with the unspoken but clear message that if it had failed, only he would be to blame and only he would be castigated by those in power for what could be considered a questionable alliance with curious allies and perilous intentions.

The words sounded like his own, although he could sense Blair's hand in their creation.

 _Why'd they do this?_ he asked himself. _Go to all this trouble, put out all these lies, even the body… Why?_

 _To save you, of course_ , Blair said calmly into his mind.

Jim jumped, briefly glad he had just set the coffee down. _Huh?_ He felt Blair's grin and grimaced at the fond exasperation that surged down the link. _What?_

Blair shook his head at him, the move as clear in Jim's mind as if the younger man was standing in front of him, and the Sentinel leaned back and closed his eyes.

 _Really, man, come on_ , Blair chided him. _And you're supposed to be a detective._ When Jim didn't reply, he went on. _What did you think this morning would be like when you got back to work?_

 _Uh_ , Jim stuttered, trying to delay the inevitable, _what do you mean?_

Blair hit him, and in the office Ellison strangled a yelp, reaching to rub his bruised shoulder. _What was that for?_ he protested.

 _You know perfectly well what that was for,_ the shaman informed him, glaring at him. _This is me you're talking to, not some stupid civilian, remember? I know how the department works, and no one there knew a thing about the ghost. Officially, anyway, no matter what Rafe and H and Kane know. If you'd walked in today without backup from us, you'd have been hung out to dry by Allison Exeter and the mayor, and the case would have been left open and unsolved because the department didn't have a way to resolve it. Right?_

Jim rubbed his shoulder and tried to think of a way not to answer the demand. He'd known as he'd readied himself for work today what to expect, and had spent the entire drive trying to prepare himself to lose his job, probably in a public forum being flayed by Allison and the mayor. It had been the longest commute he could ever remember, and to find himself the hero instead, ready to be awarded a medal for something that he hadn't really done, was rather shocking. And he didn't want to admit his own expectations of the day to his partner, didn't want to share that humiliation.

 _You didn't have to_ , Blair pointed out, all the indignant anger gone and only a steady affection behind the words. _This is me, remember? I knew what would happen to you by the time I got back to the Legacy House, and so did Maggie. That was why we put this together. And don’t worry_ , he added, grinning at the Sentinel, _it'll hold up, even in court, if it ever goes that far, which it won't._

Jim eyed him, deciding he didn't want to question that certainty. _All this for me?_ He bit back the unintended question too late, shifting in his seat as a flush rolled over him, and quickly tried to drop out of the link.

 _Oh, no, you don't,_ Blair said softly, and Jim suddenly found that his way back was no longer there, the effect much the same as being pinned in a room by a locked door. Defeated, he turned back to his partner.

 _Damn it, Sandburg_ –

_You matter to us, Jim. I'm your Guide, and this is your House. And we take care of our own._

And with that Blair was gone, and Ellison blinked around his office, then seized upon his still-almost-hot coffee and drank it down fiercely, wishing he had alcohol to add to it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"…And so, to honor a job well done, and in commendation of a man whose actions have at all times demonstrated a commitment to the well-being of his community and his city, I hereby award this medal of…"

Jim lost the thread of the mayor's announcement as a whisper of scent found him on the well-lit stage and he tried not to frown. Why was Maggie here?

Blair was here, and that didn't surprise him, although it had garnered a startled frown from Allison Exeter when she'd seen him seated in the front row of seats. Jim had simply met her accusing gaze with his own, keeping his expression neutral and unreadable, and he knew when her eyes darkened that he hadn't lost his abilities from Special Ops.

"May he always be as good a Captain of Major Crimes as he has proven himself to be this time!" The mayor's expression echoed his enthusiastic words, but Jim knew the man wasn't nearly as sure of his, Ellison's, place as his rhetoric made him out to be.

The resulting applause was loud and sincere, though, and Jim fought to restrain a flush as the men from Major Crimes hooted and cheered with abandon. Their honest acclaim warmed him more than the medal that the mayor placed around his neck, and he smiled at them, somewhat embarrassed but unable to turn away from their response as he could from Allison's.

"We also offer James Ellison a place with us." Maggie's voice was clear and carrying, and Jim's gaze jerked to her as she stepped onto the stage, pacing over to stand next to the mayor, who looked somewhat stunned. Flashbulbs flashed and a hum swept through the room as she continued. "The Oran Institute is always on the lookout for qualified individuals who could aid us in our work, and Jim's recent collaboration with us proved that he was extremely competent in those areas. We prize his intelligence and training, not to mention his good sense and his ability to work with a team, and so we have already made him an offer to join us. He agreed to consider the position, but requested some time to reflect on his answer. We are more than willing to wait for his decision, but we feel it only fair to reiterate our offer here and now, so that all parties present will be made aware of it."

 _She's giving me an out_ , Jim realized. _The medal and the headlines could have locked me into this job, but now there's a road to the Legacy through it_. Bewilderment mingled with gratitude as he stared at her, as well as frustration and – he was honest enough to admit to himself – fear.

 _But I don't know how to get there!_ He gritted his teeth against the words, panic battering at him as the twin truths that had been haunting him recently torched through him again, as vivid as if he'd just discovered them.

_I'm a Captain of Major Crimes. Captains don't have partners._

_I'm a Sentinel. Blair is my Guide._

For a moment he writhed, caught between the declarations like spaghetti on the tines of a fork.

 _Let go, Jim_.

He couldn't tell if the words were a memory of his conversation with Farr, or John, or was Blair's comment now, and for a moment Ellison teetered, not sure if he stood in the present or the past, uncertain of the future and of himself, caught between terror and the surety that there was no going back and only one way forward.

He let go.

"…value his abilities as a trained detective."

Maggie was finishing an answer to a journalist as Jim caught his balance. He felt as if he'd fallen from a great height, but Blair's presence was strong in his mind, warm and solid, and he leaned on it wordlessly.

The room looked different, brighter somehow, and more vivid. And he felt more alive than he'd felt in a long, long time. His eyes met Blair's, and his Guide smiled at him, a smile with such pride and triumph in it that Jim flushed. A black panther padded silently across the stage, rubbing against Maggie's thigh as it made its way to Blair, vanishing into the darkness under his seat.

Farr now sat next to Blair, CJ next to him, and when the Sentinel's gaze met John's, the priest smiled at him, warmth and welcome deep and real in his expression. Sean, now seated on Blair's other side, grinned at him and gave him a thumbs-up, and Jim's lips quirked. The black wolf sitting close to Blair waved his tail at him and opened his mouth in a canine grin. Jim sighed.

Looking over the audience, he could tell that his own emotional shift had gone unnoticed by the press, for which he was devoutly grateful. Glancing back at Maggie, he caught her brief, knowing gaze on him and knew that she had seen his momentary 'distraction' and had deliberately set out to draw attention away from him.

"But Dr. Wainwright," a journalist interrupted, drawing her gaze back to him, "James Ellison is a man used to solving crimes, bringing home the bad guys, so to speak. He's done this kind of work for many years; what makes you think that he would be challenged by paranormal debunking? I mean, why wouldn't he be bored? That's pretty unexciting stuff compared with hunting down a serial murderer like the Switchman or psychotics like David Lash."

Maggie smiled, mischief tingeing her expression. "Oh, come now, Arthur," she chided, "you know as well as anyone here that that's not all that the Oran Institute is involved in. And no," she added as he opened his mouth with an avid expression, "I'm not going to tell you any more about that than you already know. Suffice it to say that I'm sure Mr. Ellison's position with us would encompass more than 'just' debunking – although I think that he would agree after last night that even that has its moments of adrenalin." She glanced at Jim, drawing him into the conversation, and he nodded.

"Yes, I do," he said, memory rushing over him of kneeling with Blair in the temple, the white shadow vivid over them both, death cool on the back of his neck. He took a breath, and turned to face Maggie, the sudden sensation of a wave rising under him so clear that he almost looked down to check his footing. But he kept his gaze on her, meeting her eyes steadily. "And I accept the Oran Institute's offer."

There was a moment of silence that echoed throughout the large room, and Jim braced himself, feeling new ground beneath his feet and new comrades at his side, aware of both the smiles of his Legacy team and the regret in the eyes of his men. _No, not my men, not any more_. The acknowledgement was a wrench, but he lost it in the uproar that beat upward from the mass of journalists as they pressed forward, waving mikes and hoisting cameras almost into his face.


	15. Chapter 15

"So this is how you repay me when I go off to explore a new job, mister?"

Jim turned from filling up his glass again at the punch bowl (unspiked so far) and faced Simon with a glad smile that he hoped hid the uncertainty behind it. Simon had been the one he dreaded facing most since his announcement to the press one week before, afraid that the big man would see his move into the Legacy as an abandonment and perhaps even a betrayal of a trust passed from himself to Ellison.

But Simon's dark eyes held no anger, not even any regret, and he clapped Jim on the shoulder with as much affection as he'd ever shown. Jim felt his muscles relax with that touch, and he touched his glass to Simon's. "To new lives," he toasted, and lifted the glass to his lips, the move matched by his former Captain.

Simon guided him across the crowded bullpen and into the office, Jim closing the door behind him. Banks studied him for a long moment when he turned back, then nodded. "You made the right call, Jim."

Ellison shook his head. "Funny, but you're the last person I thought would say that."

Simon grinned, an expression that had more relaxed depth to it than the last time Jim had seen it, and the Sentinel was suddenly, fiercely glad that his friend had taken the road he had, even if it meant a parting of the ways for the two of them. But he could see the benefit of the man's turn away from Major Crimes in his relaxed demeanor and open smile, and he seated himself in one of the chairs fronting the desk he had called his own just hours before, hoping that his own road would be as positive a turn.

Simon lifted his own drink to his lips, then lowered it after a deep draught. "You thought I'd be angry with you for giving up the fight."

It wasn't a question, but Ellison nodded, looking away.

Simon sighed. "First, Jim, you're not giving it up. That's obvious, even if I don't know everything about this Oran Institute of yours. And second, I knew when you stepped into my place that you wouldn't be here long. A Sentinel can't stand alone, and a Captain has to. But I figured that you had to find that out your own way, which was why when I left I didn't touch base with you."

Jim studied the floor, his shoes, the chairs scattered around Banks – anything to avoid looking at his former Captain. The long silence had bothered him, disturbing him more with every day that had passed. It wasn't like Simon to deliberately stay out of touch, especially with the headlines screaming news of the multiple murders and Ellison's own place in it, news which would have reached even towns down the coast.

"For the record," Simon said evenly, "I never thought you were doing a poor job."

"Yes, I did," Jim said, the bitter words surprising himself. "I did a piss-poor job. Like you said, I couldn't do it alone. Couldn't stand alone."

Banks sighed again. "You had the bad luck to run up against a ghost murderer on your first case, Jim. Under those circumstances I don't think anyone would have been able to do a good job using normal channels and guidelines."

Ellison looked up, frowning. If Simon knew that the newspapers had it wrong, then… "You've been talking with Joel."

"Of course I have," Simon said gruffly, extracting a cigar and lighter from his shirt pocket. Setting the cigar between his lips, he concentrated on flicking the lighter, not looking at Jim. When he got it lit, he puffed once, then removed it, glancing back at the Sentinel. "Called him every day."

Jim frowned, his memory flicking backward. "I didn't hear it."

Banks snorted. "Yeah, I kind of figured you might focus in if you heard my voice, so I didn't call him here." Jim frowned, and the African-American looked smug. "I called him at home."

Ellison blinked, then flushed. "I guess I didn't make it easy."

"Damn straight you didn't," Simon growled, puffing contentedly. "But I wasn't about to let my best cop and a good friend wander around in this hellhole without some kind of guide. Wasn't much," he said sadly, "but it was the best I could do."

"You could've called me."

Banks shook his head. "No, I couldn't." He held up a hand when Jim would've interrupted, and the Sentinel closed his mouth. "You had to face this yourself, without leaning on me or anyone else." He leaned forward, his gaze abruptly intense, locking in on Jim's. "I never had a doubt that you could be a good Captain, Jim. You can delegate responsibility, see the larger picture, make assignments, solve cases, without a problem. I knew all of that; hell, I've seen you do it often enough. But doing it from this office, not going out in the field, letting everyone else solve the cases, filling out paperwork, dealing with politics… There was no way you could be happy with that, and I knew it. You're not that kind of man, never have been."

He chewed on his cigar for a long moment, studying Jim, who was staring at the desk again. "And then you add in being a Sentinel. Just the sensory barrage – hell, I'm beginning to sound like the kid now – but just that alone would be too much for you to deal with, day in and day out. Never being able to get away from it, all the office noises, all the street noises, the phone always ringing, the printer, the coffee machine, the copier, the fax…" He shook his head and Jim eyed him with new appreciation.

"That got to you, too?" he asked curiously.

Simon smiled grimly. "Oh, yeah. Seven stories up, there's no way to get out of the office, no way to escape the job, even for a few minutes. Go downstairs and you always meet someone, even in the elevator, who has something to say, something to report, something to ask. I thrived on that when I was younger, but the last few years it's been getting to me more and more. What it would do to you, I didn't want to know, but I knew it would be bad. And then there's the little matter of Blair."

Jim grimaced. "Yeah. That. Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, sudden anger flaring through him. "'Captains don't have partners.' I had to have that thrown in my face on a crime scene by Allison Exeter, and watch Blair walk out on me. You could have made it easier."

Regret touched Simon's eyes. "Jim, if I had told you, you would've been angry with _me_ , thinking it was my idea, my rule, and you would've thought you could get around it somehow. You had to realize that the conditions of this job required you to be someone you weren't, do things you couldn't deal with, and to do that you had to face it alone, without anyone else here to make it easier, to help you bear the burden, to help you find ways around it. It had to be real for you, and leaving you alone to face it was the only way I could think of to do that." He bit down on his cigar, then leaned over to spit the mouthful of tobacco into the garbage can. "And God help me, it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do."

The Sentinel looked away, his anger guttering out as the truth of the statement swept over him. "You were right," he said lowly. "I wouldn't've believed you, and I would've found ways around it." He nodded to himself, looking up to meet Simon's eyes. "You made the right call, sir."

Banks laughed. "Not 'sir,' Jim, not any more. Not to you."

Ellison shrugged, his lips quirking. "It's a hard habit to break, Simon."

The big man grinned, then stood, the Sentinel following his lead. "Let's go see if any of that punch is left. After all, this is a party!" He halted Ellison just before the other man would have opened the door, his voice abruptly serious. "This new job, Jim – is it what you want?"

Ellison paused, thinking of the last few weekends he'd spent at the Legacy House, the peaceful mornings with Blair's heartbeat in his ears, and the questions and puzzles that he was beginning to be involved with. Already he found himself looking forward to the new life, and the challenges it would bring. He met Simon's eyes, inhaling the familiar cigar scent with a smile. "Yeah, Simon, it is." He clasped the man's shoulder, his smile widening. "It really is."

"Good," Banks said, not smiling as their eyes met. "That's what I wanted to hear. Although I hope that you can introduce me to your new friends." He lifted his eyebrows. "I promise I won't ask any uncomfortable questions."

Jim grinned. "Go right ahead and ask, Simon. I was going to invite you and Joel – and Kane, H, and Rafe, too – to their welcoming party tomorrow night. After all," he added as his ex-Captain smiled, "I'm still a consultant to the department, too, so it's not like Blair and I will be out of touch. And all of you know I'm a Sentinel, and about… other stuff, too, so…" He trailed off, uncertain how to phrase what he wanted to say.

Banks looked at him, his eyes twinkling. "So we might find out what the Oran Institute does besides 'paranormal debunking?'"

"Might," Jim said cheerfully as he opened the door to the bullpen and the party. "Just might."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim heaved the last of the armchairs into its place in the Legacy suite, carefully aligning it with its mate on the other side of the couch, his movements matched by John panting beside him. Task done, both men straightened, stretching out the kinks that had resulted from the sustained moving process.

"Incoming!" came Blair's shout as he and Sean entered, hefting an empty bookcase between them, which they quickly shuffled through the room and into Blair's office. Behind them came Maggie and CJ carrying boxes, and Jim quickly stepped forward to relieve the precept of the load, earning himself a wry smile as he lifted it from her arms, realizing as he did so that she wasn't even breathing hard. _All that working out_ , he thought as he looked down at the label that sported the declaration 'Blair's Bedroom' and headed in that direction.

CJ followed him with her box, and Jim cast a surprised look at John, who winked at him. "I learned a long time ago not to get in her way when it comes to the physical stuff," he said, his voice Sentinel-soft.

Jim glanced over at CJ, seeing the easy strength under the box, and closed his mouth on what he'd been about to say.

"So, any more out there?" Blair asked, halting in the middle of the suite as Ellison and CJ exited his bedroom seconds later.

"That was the last of it," Maggie answered with a smile. "Don't worry," she added as Jim and Blair both started toward the door. "I'll ask Sean and John to return the truck, if they don't mind," she said, glancing at the two men, who both shook their heads.

"Nope," John said easily, clapping Sean on the back and urging him toward the door. "Not a problem. We'll just leave you to your unpacking," he added, looking back at the two men. "But if you'd like some help, feel free to ask."

"Absolutely," CJ concurred, smiling at them both. "I'd be more than willing to help if you want."

Blair shot a quick glance at Jim, then looked back at the woman. "No, that's all right, CJ. I think we can handle it from here, not a problem. Right, Jim?"

"Sure," Ellison mumbled automatically, his gaze fixed on the couch.

"That's settled, then," Maggie said briskly, herding the rest of the group out. "If you change your mind, you can always come get us, though. Supper is served at six-thirty if you want to attend."

Their footsteps padded off down the hall, and for the first time Blair and Jim found themselves alone.

 _Alone_ , Jim thought, letting his gaze roam the room. _In our suite. My suite. In the Legacy House._

He'd really done it. He'd moved out of the loft into the Legacy House. He wasn't Captain of Major Crimes any more, wasn't even a police detective. He was a Legacy member now, with responsibilities and duties he didn't even know most of the time. For a moment panic welled up in him as he looked around the strange yet familiar room, and he wished suddenly, vividly, that they were both back in the loft, with tomorrow just another day on the job.

"Jim." Blair's voice was quiet, pulling him back into the moment, and he took a deep breath, pinching his nose. That day was gone, was never coming back. He'd made his decision, and it was the right one, however it aggravated him to acknowledge it.

"Fear's a good thing, a good way to drive yourself. You taught me that, remember?"

Jim dropped his hand, glancing wryly at Blair. "You already knew that one, Chief. If anything, you taught me that, and you know it."

"It's all about letting go," his Guide said steadily, meeting his eyes. "And you did, and now you're here. New place, new challenges, new life… You've got to go forward, not back. Find the joy in it."

Jim thought about the time he'd spent here since accepting Maggie's offer a week before, thought about the peaceful sound of Blair's heartbeat echoing through his morning, about the Legacy journals he'd been reading and the talks with Maggie as he tried to fit his Sentinel abilities and detective skills to the experiences he saw in them, about the cautious excitement that he found as he began exploring current cases and his own place in them, with Blair at his side.

Yes, he could find the joy here. It was a different kind of joy than he'd ever thought he'd have, but it was real and deep and he had no intention of giving it up. And being a consultant to Major Crimes would help, too, allowing him to keep one foot in that arena, keep that part of him alive.

"I look forward to that, too."

Jim looked at his Guide. "Really? You don't need to do that for me, Chief. I can do that alone, and God knows, you have every reason to avoid that place."

Blair gazed at him, not blinking. "You know I'm not doing it for you, Jim. I'm doing it for me, because it's mine to do. My place, my job, my right." His gaze hardened. "Right?"

Jim's gaze dropped, and he surrendered to the tug as Blair pulled him into the union, his last thought that his Guide enjoyed doing this kind of thing way too much. Then he lost himself in the surge, and there was only them.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"So let me get this straight," Jim said, frowning across the breakfast table at Blair. "Roger gets to someone who recently lost someone they loved, and tells them that he can return that person if they do something for him, namely, inject someone else with ketamine."

"Which sends the injected person to Roger," Blair completed, the words a little tight as he dealt with the memories of that journey. "Yes. Roger enslaves that person, then–"

"Unless their interview is interrupted." Ellison rode over his words, not liking the tight lines around his Guide's eyes. "But normally that person, the injected one, is sent back to do the same thing to someone else."

"And so the cycle continues." Blair took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he sighed it out.

"So there's always someone in the world doing Roger's work and sending people to him?"

The shaman frowned, then shook his head. "Maybe not always. According to the research I've done on his past victims, the ones given ketamine don't always continue the chain. Remember Alex? He was the only one who gave ketamine to his victims; the others all killed someone by mundane means, I guess you'd call it."[1]

Jim rolled his eyes. "Sandburg, those 'mundane means' used to be the only way I thought someone killed other people." That got him a faint grin, and he plowed ahead, heartened. "So when the ones who're enslaved by Roger through ketamine die, they go to him."

"For all eternity," Blair said hollowly. "Yes."

Ellison grimaced, wishing now that he had gone to Maggie with his questions on this topic. Asking his partner for explanations was second nature, and he needed to know just who Roger's enslaved were and how they had gotten that way, since their mission to free those people was coming up, but he hadn't bargained on the effect the conversation would have on Blair. _Stupid, Ellison_ , he chided himself. _Really stupid. For all intents and purposes, he went through a major trauma with Roger, and here I am asking him to revisit it to satisfy my curiosity_. For a moment he wondered briefly if the Legacy had psychologists on staff for this kind of thing; after all, traumas of this sort were no less real than the mundane kind, and must be common to Legacy members. They'd need to be dealt with just as police officers had to.

"That's John's job," Blair said peaceably, his lips quirking a little as Jim jumped. "Why do you think Maggie calls him counselor to the team? And yes, I am seeing him about Roger."

Jim stared at him, then sighed, cursing silently. Damn it, he'd honestly thought he'd damped down that thought so Blair couldn't catch it; a fine mess he was making of this new link.

Blair sighed. "Jim, it's not that I catch the thought. What we've built across the years runs deep, and words aren't all we use any more, even without the link. Add that in, though, and what we've got is a resonance that can't be ignored. I feel your feelings in my gut and my heart, and you feel mine; neither of us have to hear the words now." He leaned forward, his blue gaze suddenly intense. "And I need to talk about Roger with you, more than with anyone else.

"Hell, this is what we do," he added at Jim's startled look. "We're a team, and Roger is the perp; that's how you think of it, and that's how we work together. We're discussing MO, motive, opportunity, and all the things we usually do about a case. This _is_ a case, and that's how I need to think about it, how I've trained myself across the years to think. Talking about it with you helps me to put it into perspective in a way I understand, helps me to put it behind me, just like I put Lash behind me, and the bomb in the elevator, and all the others. So talk with me."

Ellison stared at him for a long moment, respect and affection and pride rolling through him. Damn, but his partner was good, and he couldn't ask for a better one. Not against Lash, or Brackett, or Natalie,[2] or Roger, damn his hide!

Blair blinked at him, then looked away, color flooding his cheeks.

Jim grinned. "So there are two groups, both enslaved by Roger. The first group is made up of people who have lost someone recently that Roger can hold over them, while the second group are those the first group injects with ketamine. And the ones injected with ketamine continue the cycle, injecting others, who then go on to inject still others, and so on. And when anyone from either group dies, they go to Roger?"

"Yes, exactly," Blair said gratefully.

"But how does he get the first ones?" Ellison asked, frowning as he tracked the conversation back to its beginning. "The ones who aren't sent to him by ketamine, but who have lost someone?"

Blair nodded, his expression sobering to one that Jim abruptly recognized as the same one he'd faced across his desk for years now, his partner, discussing a case.

"I think," Sandburg said carefully, "that those people are made vulnerable to Roger's influence in some way, either by intense grief that verges on the obsessive, or by having something happen to them that places them in an altered state around that time in their lives. If they were in an accident that killed the person they love, for instance, that would set them up for Roger, or if they went through an operation around that time. Even being asleep might do it, if they were trying to reach for the other person in their dreams. Anything that knocks them out of their own personal space might make them accessible to him, and once he's gotten them…" He shrugged. "…that's it for them."

"So the people we're rescuing are made up of both groups," Jim stated, continuing at Blair's nod. "Now when they were alive, Roger kept them under his thumb by telling them that if they did what he said, he'd return that person who died."

Blair dipped his head, and Ellison frowned. "And that works whether they're alive or dead. Being enslaved, they couldn't just walk away, even if they realized that he was lying to them about returning that person."

"Nope," Blair said succinctly. "They couldn't. They might've thought they could, might not have realized that they were enslaved, but typically they went mad, anyway. Look at Alex," he said, referring to the young man who had tried to enslave Sandburg himself, who had been found wandering the graveyard where his twin was buried, lost in his own ravings. He had since been committed to an insane asylum.[3] "My guess is that the act of enslavement drives a living human mind insane, to a greater or lesser degree, and they're only useful to Roger until they're either caught or killed by the police for murder."

"Or committed," Jim muttered. "And once they're dead, Roger has them close, under his control, and he tells them that if they don't obey him, he'll hurt that person they love."

"Seems like," Blair agreed. "If that woman I spoke to is indicative of the general trend of his victims, they believe that if they attempt to escape or resist, the person they loved will pay the price."

Ellison frowned at him. "That's what I don't get, though, Chief. Why should Roger bother to threaten them when they're dead? He has them right where he wants them, and there's no way they can escape anyway. Why bother holding something over their heads? And what do they have to offer him anyway, once they're dead?"

Blair swallowed, his jaw set, then plowed ahead. "It's the same answer to both questions. I think that Roger feeds on their pain and fear, and he can inflict those on the people he's enslaved at any time. So he enjoys forcing them to obey him out of fear for their loved ones." His voice dropped, and he looked away, then deliberately turned back to look at Jim, his gaze level, if haunted. "And I think he probably tortures them on a regular basis."

Jim stared at him, then swallowed as a ripple of horror shook through him. "So the more people he takes the stronger he grows and the harder he is to resist."

Blair blinked, startled, then frowned. "Yeah, I guess so." He swallowed hard as the implications hit him. "My God. I hadn't even made that connection."

Ellison looked away, his jaw tight. Even the worst criminals he'd ever taken down had never come close to this kind of effect on the world. Roger had had centuries, maybe even millennia to build up his supply of enslaved humans, and he was probably adding to them frequently. He fed on their pain and fear and grief, and when they weren't supplying him with enough, he tortured them for his own pleasure – for eternity.

Jim thought of Blair, almost enslaved into that kind of existence, and his heart twisted. _I'm going to bring this guy down if it's the last thing I do_ , he thought savagely.

He looked up to find Blair watching him, the understanding expression in the sapphire eyes almost too intense, and he looked away again, speaking almost at random. "That means that freeing these people should reduce Roger's strength enormously."

Sandburg blinked, startled again, then grinned. "This is why you bring something to the Legacy that no one else can, Jim. You think about this in strategic terms, and we need that. And you're right," he mused, eager enthusiasm growing in the words. "You're right! Freeing his prisoners will be like breaking the bank for him, and he should be much weaker after that. And if we do this periodically, maybe we'll be able to weaken him permanently!"

Jim frowned, a sudden idea surging through him, and he gritted his teeth against it. "There's just one thing, Chief. How can we break that enslavement, especially with the kind of strength he can call upon now, after all these centuries?"

Blair stared at him, then closed his eyes and bowed his head on his clenched fists. "I don't know," he whispered, the drop from joyous gladness to despair echo down the link, and Jim swallowed hard.

"It can be done." Maggie stood beside the table, and Ellison jumped.

Blair raised his head, faint hope in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Maggie pulled back a chair and seated herself, studying them both. "I may be the only other person besides you, Blair, who has actually faced Roger and escaped. As such, like you, I have a certain insight into him that may aid us in this endeavor." She frowned at him. "I believe that Roger's own arrogance can be used against him."

They stared at her, the anthropologist the first to find words. "What do you mean?"

She paused, obviously choosing her words carefully. "I mean that the torment and pain he can inflict on his victims is much more intense and pleasurable for him because they know that escape is possible but do not dare to engage in it."

Blair's face whitened. "That's why there are holes in the wall that surrounds his domain. He wants his victims to long for escape, to know it's possible, and not to dare to do it because of what he can do to the hostages they think he has."

"Which he doesn't, right?" Jim asked. If Roger had a stash of people stored elsewhere to hold against his prisoners, they were doomed before they began."

Maggie inclined her head to him. "He does not."

Ellison eyed her. "No offense, Maggie, but how do you know that?"

She smiled at him, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Always the detective, checking the facts. That's good. I know because when I was standing in Roger's place, distracting him from Blair, I could see his entire domain, and as close as I was to him, I understood it as he did. There are no hostages to fortune for his prisoners to fear. They, themselves, are Roger's only strength, and when they die he impresses upon them the illusion of what he can do to their loved one should they resist or escape from him. That illusion feels very real to them, and they bow to it, in terror and grief. And then he frees them within his domain, ensuring that they know that freedom is just a hairsbreadth away, through a hole in the wall, always available and never taken." She bowed her head, tears bright in her eyes, then looked up at Jim and Blair.

"In addition, many of those souls the prisoners believe to be hostages are in fact close to the walls on their other side, trying to free their loved ones from Roger. They can't take down the walls themselves, but they can and do manage to knock holes in them, which Roger has capitalized on." She sighed.

"God, that's horrible," Blair said, forcing the words through a tight throat. "And I'd be willing to bet that some of those holes are traps Roger created, just because he could."

"Sounds like the kind of thing he'd do," Jim grunted, anger stirring in his stomach. "Maybe that's why we had to use my senses to look through the holes without touching them when he almost had you before; if I could see through to the other side, it was a real hole and not a trap."

Maggie sighed again. "That's probably true. If so, the lack of Sentinel sight would certainly provide an incentive to stay on the prisoners' side of the wall." She studied them, then added, "I hadn't understood all of what I had seen and experienced there until I overheard the conversation between you, and as you worked it out, so did the truth come clear to me.

"I believe you're right. Freeing Roger's prisoners will reduce his strength tremendously, and if we succeed in this endeavor, we may be able to take on another mission down the road and perhaps close his passage to us as we closed the Hunter's."

"And so save a lot of people," Blair said, his eyes shining.

"But first we've got to get this bunch out," Jim pointed out. "Which is how?"

 

[1] See previous story in timeline: "Roger's Calling," in _Sensory Overload 9_.

[2] See previous story in timeline: "The Underside of the World," in _Sensory Overload #3._

[3] See previous story in timeline: "Roger's Calling," in _Sensory Overload 9_.


	16. Chapter 16

The wall sure _looked_ solid.

Jim slowed as he came up to it, then stopped, staring at it. It was exactly the same off-white shade as the rest of the corridor, and the paint's texture matched, too. A picture of an English landscape hung on it, soft pastels and gentle hues, framed in dark wood. It didn't help that John had described the security system to him, including the electrical shock that an intruder received if he tried to enter the inner sanctum and wasn't accepted. Strong enough to knock a person out, the defense insured that only members of the House could enter the control room, and with no intention of becoming a Legacy member himself at that point, the statement had rankled.

But he _was_ a Legacy member now, and the control room beyond was open to him.

Blair was already inside, responding to the summoning of the household for a conference. So why was Jim standing in the hallway, staring at a wall that wasn't a barrier to him any more? Supposedly, anyway.

He swallowed, grimacing at his own hesitation. He'd started to feel, tentatively, like the Legacy was a place he could belong, could build a place in, and that this House was, could be, his home. But walking through that wall was something only a member of this House could do, and stepping through it would be the final seal on his entrance into this new place in his life. It wasn't nearly as difficult as the act of letting go in the press room a week ago had been, but it ranked up there on the list nonetheless.

Was this even the right wall, he suddenly wondered. After all, he had only seen CJ walk through it, and that had been weeks ago; maybe the entrance to the control room was actually on another stretch of corridor. How would he know?

He grimaced, then focused down. For a moment all he saw was the finer details of a wall and a picture, and then the wall shifted and he blinked, turning away from the sight. _It pixilated_ , he thought, remembering Blair's comment about a picture he'd been touching up in Photoshop. He hadn't understood the comment then, but a close focus on the wall looked very much like what he had seen on Blair's screen then. Definitely the right wall then – no normal wall would look like that.

But all of this didn't get him into the room. If he concentrated, he could hear Blair's heartbeat echoing out of the area, and he could also hear voices – Maggie and John. So that left only…

"The first time is hard."

Jim just barely kept his startled jerk from showing, and he turned to glance at Sean, who stopped beside him, his gaze on the wall, not Jim.

"I don't think you ever really forget your first time walking through it," the younger man mused, glancing up at him. "Even if, after a while, you do it without thinking about it."

Ellison deliberately took a breath, remembering Maggie's long ago description of Sean as a young man having a lot of promise who just needed to mature into it.[1] Pushing back his own painful memories of youngsters he'd known who had never had a chance to reach that maturity, he frowned at the linguist. "I thought you were born into the Legacy."

Sean shrugged, the tension that always thrummed through him around Jim easily visible to the Sentinel. "Kids can't go into the control room. That's something you can't do until you're part of a House, and that doesn't happen until you're an adult."

"Umm," the detective said noncommittally, then forced himself on. "So you were nervous?" The unspoken acknowledgement of his own feelings was clear in his words, and he could feel a slight flush climbing his cheeks.

Sean glanced up at him, then nodded. "Oh, yeah. Really nervous." He swallowed, then admitted in a lower voice, "A little scared, too."

 _He's my teammate_ , Jim reminded himself. _Trust comes with the territory_. "New things can be tough."

"But worth it," Sean said firmly, then smiled up at the Sentinel. "Come on. It's easier if someone else goes first." He stepped forward, not hesitating as he neared the wall, then stepped through it. There was no ripple of the seemingly solid stone, no flicker, but the linguist was gone.

Jim shook his head and stepped forward, trying not to close his eyes as he reached the wall, knowing that such a move would lock the room beyond against him, his retinal patterns unreadable. He slowed at the barrier, unable to deny the curiosity running through him. _What does it feel like?_ he wondered, reaching forward with a tentative finger to poke at the wall.

It didn't feel like anything, and there was no shift in the wall, his finger simply disappearing into the surface without a mark. Watching that, he shook his head. _Weird. Just plain weird, that's what this is._

"I must've stood there for about ten minutes, my first time."

He jumped, jerking around to face CJ, who smiled up at him as she joined him.

"Everyone does that," she added, shaking back her long black hair as she turned to look at the wall. "I certainly did. It's kind of like a ritual everyone has to go through, wondering what it feels like." She glanced up at him, her eyes dancing. "Come on." She stepped forward, and he moved with her.

It was like walking through a normal open doorway, nothing against his skin but cool air, just the abrupt shift, one room one moment, another the next, and he blinked around the space, returning Sean's smile a little absently as he stared at all the computers and the large screen set against one wall. Lights blinked across consoles, images swirled across screens, and he understood why Maggie had referred to the control room as the heart of the House.

"Conference room is over there," Sean said, nodding to the other side of the large room, where several doors stood open. He led the way, Jim and CJ following, the detective studying the technology he could see as he did.

But the conference room looked just as he thought it should, a fair-sized, dark-grained round table set in the middle of a room, six comfortable chairs set around it. Bookshelves filled one wall and part of another, with a fireplace taking up the rest. A large window, open to the late morning, filled the end wall, and sunlight fell through it in patterns on the floor.

The other Legacy members looked up with smiles as the three entered, and Jim took the seat beside Blair with a strong sense of future déjà vu, knowing that this conference room would become as familiar to him as the bullpen had back at the police station.

And for the first time, he didn't feel a stab of wistful longing at the comparison. This was his home now, and he and his team members had a mission to plan.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 _And so help me, I still think this is crazy!_ Jim thought fiercely, unable to halt his glare as John hauled the large beanbag chair into the middle of the room, then moved back to his spot as CJ began drawing the circle.

"Come on, big guy," Blair said quietly, dropping into the chair and squirming until he had established a place he could sit upright in its embrace. He glanced up at Jim, who still stood, his jaw tight.

_I don't like this, Sandburg._

Blair sighed. _Jim, please, don't make this harder than it's going to be. You were at the conference, you know why this will work. Sit down._

Ellison grimaced, then seated himself, maneuvering until he sat behind the shaman, who leaned back into him, forcing him deeper into the chair. The position brought back strong memories of sitting in the same beanbag chair with Blair in his arms only a couple of months before, hoping against hope that he could find his Guide and rescue him before Roger claimed his soul.[2] The resemblance was not comforting, and he gritted his teeth.

 _It's not the same thing, big guy_.

Jim sighed, hearing the resigned weariness in Blair's thought. _I know that, Chief. You'll be outside his walls this time, but still… I can't help how I feel about your doing it alone._

 _I'm not alone, Jim. I have you, and that makes all the difference. And I have them_.

Ellison pinched his nose, then lowered the hand, closing his arms around the younger man and trying to ignore the sense that everyone was looking at him when he did it. Of course, they _were_ all looking at him, since he was in the center of the circle, but no one here would judge him for the move. But knowing that didn't erase the years of self-conscious training that you never, ever touched another man like this.

_I'm not another man. I'm your Guide, and you're my Sentinel. Remember?_

Soberness radiated outward from Blair, and Jim relaxed into the focus, muscles loosening. _I remember, Chief. And I'll be here for you_.

A grin flashed through their rapport. _Damn right you will be. And you'd better not show up beside me in there, either._

Ellison drew a deep breath, then nodded, although Blair couldn't see the move. _I promise. I'll stay here._ He tapped the shaman on the head. _Just you make sure you come back._

_Hey, man, as long as you're here, I'll have a clear road back, no problem._

Maggie drew the final part of the circle, then moved to her place at one of the cardinal points, which happened to be facing Jim and Blair. She met their eyes, and both of them nodded, albeit reluctantly on Ellison's part.

"The circle is closed, and we stand between the worlds…"

Jim deliberately turned his attention away from her words, focusing instead on his own physical reality – the feel of Blair in his arms, heartbeat strong under his fingers, the bulging beans digging slightly into his side, the patterns of candlelight dancing across the floor, the scent of incense in his nostrils.

_"This is going to be hardest on you, Jim," John had warned earlier, soberly staring across the conference table at him. "You have to be in that room, focused on that room, in every way possible, without zoning out on any one sense. And at the same time, you have to feel the bond between you and Blair, be aware of it and of him deep within you, but not follow it. No matter what happens to or around Blair, you can't join him on that metaphysical plane. Not this time. You're his bond here, and since Roger works with both matter and spirit to convince his people that they're bound to him, Blair must act as the bridge between the worlds this time, able to call on both matter – through his bond to you and to his own body – and spirit, as a shaman. If you join him, Roger can overcome him, and everything falls apart. You're the key to this, the key to Blair."_

_"He always has been," the shaman said offhandedly, his words silencing Jim._

The detective took a deep breath, aware of Blair standing amidst soft, rolling hills of green, under an early sunrise. The shaman started to walk down the path he'd marked on his previous trip, and Jim took a deep breath, halting his own urge to join his friend before it got started.

John stepped further into the circle and started to chant.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Jim let the words roll over him, grounding him into the world, and wondering briefly why the repetition didn't just drive him into a state where it'd be even harder not to join Blair. But he quickly realized that the chant raised power as few other things could, and when the others took it up, he could feel that power tingle through him, growing stronger by the moment as it built within the circle.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

He felt alert and awake, ready for anything. He found he could shift from Sentinel sense to normal and back again without hesitation and without losing his focus or his control, and smiled with delight. Sight was clearer, hearing sharper, and he inhaled, his smile broadening as smells flooded in, tingling in his nostrils. Blair's skin was warm against his fingers, and he could feel the roughness of each hair on his partner's forearms.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

He could feel power pouring through the circle to Blair, and through their bond as well. Walking down the trail, the shaman smiled, and through him Jim was aware that the hills were greener, the bird cries sweeter, the tinkling brook nearby more musical.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Jim became aware that he was chanting with the others, although he didn't remember starting. The words echoed through him, making him one with the power, driving his focus solidly into the world around him. And yet it grounded him, leaving him with no fear of zoning out, even as his senses reached new heights of use that he'd never dared try.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Blair topped a small hill and started down the other side, his footfalls ringing through Jim in pace with the chant. A sea of gray stretched before him, parting as he neared it, and Jim realized that what he was seeing was in fact a crowd of souls, massed in their hundreds of millions, waiting for Blair.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Delicious chills raced through Jim, and he shivered, not even startled at this development. Caught in the ritual and the chant and the power, all he was aware of was the sense of rightness and purpose that drove them all. The waiting souls were where they needed to be, as were they all. How they had known to come didn't matter.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Blair halted, and the souls shifted until they stood behind him, an ocean of gray from north to south as far as even Jim's eyes could see. The wall stood before the shaman, its stones gleaming in the first rays of the perpetual sunrise that Blair brought with him. The sky was a clear, dark blue above him, but past the wall there was only darkness and shadow, a whisper of pain and torment and grief that threaded through Jim as clearly as did the incense strong in his nostrils. He leaned into the chant, and the answering warmth chased away the chill that had touched him.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Blair studied the wall for a moment, hands on hips, then closed his eyes. Jim could feel him working, creating, producing, and when the shaman opened them again, he reached out and closed his hand on the rope that hung seemingly from the heavens and tugged.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Bells pealed, some deep-toned and sober, others brighter and glad, yet others light and dancing. Underneath and through it all thrummed joy and purpose, and Jim found himself smiling again as a diffuse light began to grow within the circle, bringing with it a soft warmth. The chant strengthened, unshakable and strong, built from earth and from heaven.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Blair turned and looked at the massed souls behind him, switching hands on the bell pull without looking and without halting in his rhythmic tug. "You know what to do," he said, his soft words echoing across the enormous space. "Jericho is the key, and today we take the walls down." He turned back to face the wall, changing hands again, and began chanting, his voice echoing through Jim's mind as he joined with his teammates.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

The chant strengthened, growing deeper, louder, stronger. The bells pealed forth, again and again and again, invisible but very clear, their deliberate rhythm a match to that of the chant, and Blair loosed his grip on the rope, nodding as the bells never paused in their swing.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Behind Blair, the spirits began to move, circling the walls, which began to shrink, until at last Roger's realm lay before them, finite in area rather than seeming to stretch out past the limits of sight. Now it had edges and boundaries, and Blair, standing on the hill inside his own space, could see it in its entirety, still huge, but not infinite by any means. And though the shaman could not follow the walls with his own sight, Jim could see their circumference easily, including the ever-moving circle of souls outside them, and Blair nodded, smiling.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

The spirits behind Blair were now nothing but a gray ring, moving so fast that the individual soul was lost in the whole of the group. They had taken up the chant for themselves, and its whisper reverberated through Blair to the circle and to Jim, and back again.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

And Roger struck. Shadows poured from the wall, took on substance and form, and solid at last, the front ranks flung themselves on Blair, desiccated hyenas of darkness made real, hundreds and thousands of them, always with shadows behind them.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Jim started, automatically reaching toward his Guide, moving to join him as the horde of monsters threw themselves toward him.

_No!_

Blair's thought was fierce and strong, but it was the touch of fear under it that halted Jim in his tracks. He swayed forward, then caught himself and forced himself back into his own body, the room abruptly real around him again with its thrumming chant. He could feel the eyes of the others on him, a little worried, but relieved, and he cleared his throat, then took up the words again, falling quickly if a little raggedly into the rhythm once more.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

When Jim looked back to Blair, it was to find his friend in the middle of a small circle, its circumference a fiery blue even in the early sunlight that fell around him. Roger's hyenas slowed at the razor cut of boundary that marked the shaman's area from Roger's, but although they hesitated, they didn't halt until they reached his circle. There they paused, uncertain. One placed a paw on the drawn line, then leaped back with a shrill whine, the paw hanging useless.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Blair smiled, lifting his voice higher in the chant. The hyenas began to mass around him, pushing closer, while behind him echoed the forceful whisper of the spirits. The bells pealed, the shaman never pausing in his rhythmic tug on the rope. Around Jim, the light was stronger, a warm presence that he could feel.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

There was a crack like the lash of a whip across the shaman's morning, and Blair's chant jerked silent as he shuddered and fell to one knee. The bells never paused in their invisible swing.

Jim reached for his Guide, unable to halt the instinctive reaction, but the light was warm and gentle against him, and he could not pass through it. He gritted his teeth and leaned into the chant instead, deliberately focusing on sending the light and the power down the bond to his Guide. He knew what had happened. Roger, being Roger, had reached across and flicked the young shaman with his own dark power, like a rubber band sent from afar, the difference being that the rubber band was created of terror and grief and pain and that Roger, in his almost binding of Blair before, could ignore the circle as if it wasn't there. The hyenas leaped and howled, their clamor rising above the whispered chant of the spirits, making it shiver, ever so slightly.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

A wolf howled, the eerie, tingling song mingling with a great cat's yowl, both somehow merging with the chant and strengthening it yet again. Blair raised his head, shaking back his hair with a stubborn smile, then climbed to his feet. Another howl rent the air, this one making Blair start, staring around with a look Jim could read easily. And the black wolf was suddenly there, slipping from Blair's side past the circle's edge, snapping right and left and right again to a chorus of yelps and cries, the hyenas shying back in a wave as his fangs wrought terror in their midst. Even Roger's creatures, it seemed, feared death.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Somewhere, very far away, a stone fell. Jim heard it, and Blair jerked to face the sound.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Another one fell, and then another, then two more, each sound as distinct to the Sentinel as the stones themselves.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

"Yes!" Blair shouted. "It's begin–"

_Come to me._

The summons was insidiously sweet, and even in his own body Jim felt the tug, deep inside himself in the kernel of his union with Blair. His voice broke mid-word, and he felt the glances of his teammates as he closed his eyes to better see Blair.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

In his circle on the hill, Blair shook his head, his body rigid. "No," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm not yours to command. This is my space, my circle, not yours."

The black wolf howled, the sound punctuated by the whimpers and sniffles of his foes, then broke away from his fight and circled back to Blair, Roger's hyenas wary on his tail. He took up his stance next to the young man, his own power pouring into the shaman.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

_Come to me, Blair Sandburg._

Blair swayed, and Jim could feel the draw, the almost unbearable urge to run down the hill toward the wall that waited for him, with its holes ready to receive him into its prison.

_Chief, don't you dare!_

Blair didn't have the energy to spare to answer, but Jim felt the command strengthen, and the young shaman shuddered, the ripple traveling up the rope he had grabbed in a loose hand. Above, the bells' tones broke, ever so slightly. The whispered chant of the spirits rose in defiant response. The black wolf whined, then snarled at the hyenas as they crowded the edges of the circle.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

_Come to me, Blair!_

Jim felt his own body twitch in response to the powerful command, and Blair swayed forward, then caught himself before he moved. The black wolf pressed against him.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

_You are mine, Blair Sandburg, and I will have you. Come!_

Blair took a step forward.

It was a small step, a baby step, but it broke the foundation of his resistance, and Jim reached to stand beside him, dimly aware of the black wolf spinning to attack Roger's creatures as they poured over the edges of Blair's own small circle toward the shaman, of the shiver that went through the bells' peal, of the stumble in the spirits' motion.

And found himself blocked by the light.

He couldn't move, couldn't join his Guide, and he opened his eyes, fury rushing through him, ready to fight.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

The black wolf was fighting furiously, spinning and snapping, so far managing to keep the hyenas from reaching their target.

The chant surrounded Jim, driving deep within his bones. Light enclosed him, a strong, gentle pressure on him that he couldn't shut out, and suddenly he realized that the strongest aid he could offer his partner was a focus, a place that was as real as the sunrise he stood in now, an alternative to the pain and terror and grief that waited to claim him.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

The front row of hyenas reached Blair, then went down under the fangs of the black wolf, now forced into the small space around the shaman.

The beans dug into Jim's back, and he could feel the shape of every single one. Blair's forearms were rigid in his grasp, his fists clenched. The Sentinel wrapped his hands around his friend's wrists, his grasp firm, feeling the bones under the skin, aware of each follicle under his fingers. Around him the chant rose and fell, and he cleared his throat, then took a breath and joined it again, trying to send the sound, and its power, down the link to his Guide.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

_Blair, come. Now._

Blair staggered, then stood firm, and Roger's hyenas faltered. The black wolf snarled, his fangs gleaming as he struck again and again.

Jim looked around the workroom, inhaling the incense deep into his nostrils, watching the way the light fell across the polished floor, feeling the currents of air brush across his skin, listening to the voices of his teammates in the chant, realizing that its rhythm matched their heartbeats. He could hear Blair's heartbeat, and his own, could feel the blood rushing through his own veins.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Far away, Jim heard a rumble begin, growing louder in seconds, and Blair started, turning to stare. Through his partner's eyes, Jim could see dust puff upward, and focused, bringing the scene into sharp detail. He was dimly aware of his friend's gasp, but all his attention was on the wall at the far end of Roger's domain, the wall that was crumbling even as they watched, and he felt the glad leap of Blair's heart in his own chest. The incessant tug to obey Roger's command vanished, and instead Jim felt a wash of consternation, quickly gone.

The hyenas shied backward, yelping as they leaped from the small circle, the black wolf at their heels. Several fell as they leaped over its line, and the black wolf howled triumphantly, halting at the circle's edge to stare at them, tongue lolling.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Jim opened his eyes, surprised to find them closed, and listened to his Guide's heartbeat, pleased to hear it slowing a little as Blair moved back to his place beside the bell tug. He leaned into the chant, aware of Blair joining in, his voice fierce. The spirits' encirclement was steady again, a hum of anticipation in it now. The bells' tones were potent and powerful, and the rumble of stones falling grew ever louder, until at last Blair could see the walls collapsing with his own eyes.

The black wolf howled again, then turned back to join Blair, limping a little.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Light grew around Blair, filling his circle and pushing back the hyenas, who whimpered at its touch. Blair rested his hands on his hips, smiling as the dull rumble of the crashing walls came ever nearer. The bells pealed, and the whispering chant of the spirits grew stronger still, a tinge of joy to the sound. The black wolf stood beside Blair, ready and poised.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

The rumble grew to a crushing roar, and the earth shook as, like a fall of dominoes, right to left as far as the Sentinel could see, one section following another into ruin, the wall fell. A dull rumble continued for a few moments as the rest of the stones tumbled to ground, then silence fell, punctuated by the dust that whirled in small eddies from the piles of rock. One last line of chant, one last peal of the bells, and the spirits slowed to a halt behind Blair, both he and they falling silent, their gazes focused on the revealed land of Roger's domain.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

In the Legacy circle, the chant continued. Jim found his voice rising as he poured himself into the words, something in him realizing that this was not the end, but rather, the beginning, and that to fail now was to fail everything. The light around Blair was a brilliant white, its glow reaching, meter by meter, toward the rockpiles of the wall and its other side.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

On the other side of the wall of fallen rock, a sea of gray stretched before them, a crowd of souls, massed in their hundreds of millions, waiting, their terror and hope and grief and love reaching to grasp Jim by the throat. Behind Blair, the spirits stood still as soul stared across at soul.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

The light reached the piles of rock, then rippled out over the multitude, growing brighter still, until Jim wondered why he felt no need to shield his eyes, as dazzling as it was. Blair stood still and lifted his head, his eyes a vivid, piercing blue. Stretching out his arms, he said loudly, "Jericho is delivered unto us, and the walls are fallen indeed! Let light and truth prevail!"

His voice echoed over the Legacy chant in Jim's head, a seeming echo bouncing back to the Sentinel's ears even as he heard it resound across the multitude, followed by a murmur of sound as the souls on Roger's side looked to each other and questioned, then stared again at the spirits on the other side of the wall of rock.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

A man stepped forward from Roger's group, pacing forward until he stood just inside the remains of the wall. Jim guessed him to be somewhere in his thirties. Green-eyed and blond, he stared at the spirits facing him. "Drew?"

The desperate hope in the word forced Jim to swallow, and he felt Blair's chest tighten.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Another man, dark-haired but with blue eyes, stepped out of the crowd behind Blair and walked forward, halting a bare foot from the other, but safely inside the young shaman's space. "I'm here," he said, his voice choked, holding out his arms. "I'm really here, Ray. Please, trust me."

Ray studied him for a long moment, then took a long, deep breath and stepped forward into the other man's embrace, across the wall. An enormous indrawn gasp echoed behind him, and Jim gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue the chant, knowing that he was watching an extraordinary act of courage. The light rippled across them all, a gentle, warm frisson of calm power.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

" _No! He's mine._ "

It was the first time Jim had heard Roger with his ears and not with his mind, but he recognized the voice immediately. He couldn't help a grim smile, though, as he realized that it came out of the air, and Roger himself couldn't be seen.

Ray stiffened in Drew's embrace and tried to pull free, but the dark-haired man murmured something to him and he halted, standing still and straight in his lover's arms. Behind him, the group of souls shivered and shied backward, away from the wall. A moan of protest echoed from the spirits at Blair's back, and Jim leaned into the chant, blinking as the light intensified even more, brilliant across both the shaman's space and Roger's.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Blair shook back his hair and stared at the land across the wall. "Not feeling well, are you, Roger? You've lost, and you know it. Your wall is destroyed, your illusions have failed, and your people are free. Love claims all."

He turned to face the two men. "Ray, Drew. Come home."

Drew folded Ray even closer and, leaning forward, kissed him. "Come with me," he said when he had finished. "Please, Ray, come with me. Come home."

Ray took a deep breath, then smiled, tears running down his face. "Let's go home, then." He loosed Drew slightly as the other man slid his arm around his lover's shoulders and turned to face Blair, both men starting up the hill toward him.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

" _No. Stop! I forbid it!_ "

Blair grinned as the two men continued toward him. "It's not your call any more, Roger."

As the two men reached level with Blair, Ray halted, turning back to face the group he had left. "This is real!" he said strongly. "We're free. Come on, come on over!"

White light wrapped around the two of them as he finished the words, a column from heaven claiming them. When it cleared they were gone.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

A huge groan went up from the group on Roger's side, and they swayed forward, then broke, surging toward Blair and the other side of the wall.

Blair was suddenly enveloped as the spirits behind him swept down the hill, the two groups meeting and melding halfway, dozens, hundreds of columns of white, coruscating light dancing across the landscape.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Minutes later the hillside was empty, the light fading from Roger's side, shrinking back into Blair's, leaving behind a gray desolation of broken rocks and sand.

The light retracted into Blair's circle, suddenly whirling around him and the black wolf, spinning into a white column of fire that was as suddenly gone.

 

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

" _Veni Sancte Spiritus._ "

 

Jim opened his eyes on the last line of the chant, feeling Blair stir in his arms. Looking down, he saw the wide eyes of his Guide, felt the awe in him.

_Jim! Jim, Dad was a Sentinel!_

Their team members broke into clapping, the sound breaking the moment and claiming Sentinel and Guide in real time again. Blair took a deep breath, swallowed, then moved awkwardly to stand, beginning to clap. Jim hauled himself to his feet and did the same, realizing at some level that this was the only way to ground out the energy the chant had raised. The revelation could wait.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim lifted his head as he heard the car pull up, a truck behind it. From his place in the control room he heard Blair's heartbeat shift, and wondered, briefly, if his Guide had heard the vehicles through Jim's ears or his own.

Maggie closed the Legacy journal they'd been discussing on a bookmark, pushing it to one side of the table and smiling at him. "It's time to go welcome our guests," she said. "They're right on time."

Ellison nodded, wondering why he was suddenly nervous. After all, these were his men, his friends, and he was in his own place, with Blair by his side. It was only a party. Why was his stomach suddenly tight, his hands clammy?

_Because, big guy, you're now a part of the Legacy, and they're not. You don't share common ground any more. This is your ground, not theirs, and you want them to approve of your choice of it._

Jim's eyes narrowed as he pushed his chair back. _Chief?_

_Yeah, Jim?_

_Shut up_.

Blair's grin answered him, and he sighed as he stood, aware of Maggie's small smile as she followed his movement. The precept couldn't follow their conversation, he knew, but she could often pick up on the emotional byplay behind it, although whether that was just because she could read his body language and expressions or for some other reason he didn't know and didn't want to know. Bad enough that she could pick up on it anyway.

He managed to ignore her expression as he led the way out of the library, surreptitiously trying to wipe his hands on his jeans and deliberately not glancing back to check if she saw the gesture. He didn't want to know.

 _You're starting to say that an awful lot_.

A grin swept through him again. _Yeah, I know._

Jim rounded a corner, glancing up the staircase as he passed it. John and Blair were on their way down, with CJ following them. He could hear Sean just leaving the control room, and gritting his teeth, he headed toward the entryway, determined to be the first to welcome his friends to the Legacy House. He could hear their impressed murmurs as they made their way up the walk toward the front door, and he fought back a flush as he opened the door.

"Now that's what I call service," Simon said, smirking as he led the group inside. "Don't even have to knock."

"A Sentinel's a useful thing sometimes," Joel agreed gravely. "Pity they're not more trainable."

Rafe grinned, while H looked smug and Kane's lips twitched. Jim glared at them all. "I could just toss you all out, you know," he threatened, aware of Maggie moving up to stand beside him.

"Oh, don't worry about him," Blair said airily, stepping past him to disappear in a melee of hand shaking and back slaps. "S _he's_ the one you need to keep an eye on," he added when he emerged, looking somewhat windblown from the immersion, and pacing over to Maggie, he smiled at her and turned to look at the group. "This is Margaret Wainwright, the precept of this House."

The older woman looked them all over, each man meeting her eyes, then smiled and stepped forward. "It's Maggie to any friends of Blair and Jim," she said warmly as she clasped Simon's hand, moving on to shake everyone's. The Sentinel couldn't help but wonder what impressions she received from each man's touch, but her expression gave nothing away, and he turned his attention to making introductions from one group to the next.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 _"We are those who stand between the shadow and the light…_ "

Maggie's words echoed through her office, lamplight warm against the darkness outside the wall-size window, and Jim watched Joel and Simon swallow hard as she explained what the Legacy was and what it did. Blair stood beside him, his expression grave as he watched his two friends. Outside the closed door they could hear the murmur as the party continued without them.

 _They probably all noticed us disappearing,_ Jim mused, sipping his wine, _but no one is going to say anything._

 _Nope_ , Blair replied, his lips quirking faintly as the Sentinel jumped slightly at his unexpected reply. _They won't. This is good_ , he added, veering back to the subject. _A chance for the Legacy to make connections to two police captains is nothing to turn down. Especially in Cascade._

 _Chief, you'd better not be saying that Cascade is Hell's Gate or something like that,_ Ellison glowered at his Guide.

Blair grinned at him. _No, I wouldn't go quite that far, but it seems to draw its fair share of weirdness, for whatever reason. It's just good to have a network to call upon when you deal with it._

Jim glanced back at the threesome, then nodded. _No argument there_.

There was silence between them for a moment, then Jim shifted to look at his Guide again. Since their return the day before from freeing Roger's prisoners, Blair hadn't mentioned his father or Roger at all, but Ellison was aware of him thinking about them, although he couldn't catch the sense of it. But the shaman's deep contentment was hard to ignore, washing over into the Sentinel at odd moments, as did his exuberant anticipation, an emotion that Jim equated most strongly with his friend facing an academic challenge. The confluence of that feeling with himself made him nervous.

_Chief? You want to talk about it, I'm here._

Blair smiled back at him, his gaze affectionate. _I know, Jim. I'm just happy, that's all. Roger's people are free, those in the insane asylums are now dead and so free. You're here, I'm here, we're a team on a new playing field, and I have a whole new area to explore._

Ellison blinked at him. _You do_? He couldn't help the wariness that rushed over him with the news, and Blair's smile widened.

 _Yep_ , he answered, shaking back his hair. _I've got a Sentinel for a father, which gives me a whole new arena to explore there, it seems that our link provides a whole new way to use your senses on the metaphysical plane, which gives me a lot of new tests to create and run and study, and last but not least, I can't feel Roger any more._

Jim stared at him, lost in the list, then cleared his throat, deciding to tackle the last item and leave the first two alone in the hopes that if he ignored them they'd go away. _What do you mean, you can't feel Roger any more_?

Blair shrugged. _Before, when I was in my space over there, I could feel where he was, kind of like the wind on my face. I can't do that now, and I don't think he can call me like he did at the end there. Not any more. The light did something when it took me at the end there._

Wordless, Jim swallowed. The light was something he didn't understand and wasn't sure he really wanted to, although he also had to admit that he'd do almost anything to feel it touch him again, even through Blair. _So John was a Sentinel_? he asked, venturing onto other ground.

Blair sobered and nodded. _Yeah, he was._

 _Guess that puts paid to your notion that Guides aren't special_.

Blair flushed and looked away, not answering. Jim grinned. _Does that mean that if I had children, they'd be Guides, too_?

The anthropologist looked up at him, relaxing a little. _I don't know, big guy. I used to think it was a straight genetic thing, Sentinels begat Sentinels, you know_?

 _And what did Guides begat, Chief? Pigeons_?

Blair blinked at him and Jim shook his head. _You know, there's humility and then there's something else. Maybe it's about time you admitted that Guides are pretty special, too._ He eyed Blair, who looked away, shoving his hands into his pockets.

 _Maybe so_ , his partner admitted in a small voice.

 _No maybes about it_ , Ellison said, watching Blair shuffle his feet. _Maybe if Sentinels beget Guides, Guides beget Sentinels. Ever think about that_?

The anthropologist looked up, shaking his head. _It's way too early to hypothesize like that, Jim. I've got a whole lot of research to do before I even come close to that option_.

_Just make sure you consider that option when you get there, that's all._

Blair nodded, subdued. _I will. I promise._ He took a breath, then grinned at Jim. _Anyway, I've got a whole lot of tests to create to keep me busy. Us busy._

Jim felt a sinking sensation in his gut. _What are you talking about, Chief? You've already run all the tests on me you've thought of across the years, remember_?

 _And now I've got a whole lot more, big guy_. Blair's expression was evil, and his eyes sparkled. _When I was over there, I saw the wall fall with your senses. That means that on the metaphysical plane it's a whole new ball game, and we've got lots of work to do!_

Jim stared at him, caught without an answer. He had really hoped that Blair wouldn't remember sharing that experience with him, had thought that he might not have realized all the times that Jim had sensed something and Blair had known it with him.

 _I did, huh_?

Jim closed his eyes and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. _Damn it, Sandburg–_

_Come on, Jim! You know it happened, I know it happened, why not explore it? It'll be just like the old days when we were figuring stuff out!_

Jim groaned, dimly aware of the glances from the others in the room. _That's just what I'm afraid of, Chief._

_It'll be fun. I promise._

Jim heaved a sigh. _Fine, Sandburg. Fine. Just remember that you have a lot of other responsibilities, too, and you can't spend hours, days on just me._

Blair grinned. _I'll remember._

The group by the desk broke up, coming over to join them. Simon paused to study the city lights that danced and twinkled across the hills in a coruscating flush of jewels, then looked at Jim and Blair. "It's not my responsibility any more," he said soberly, "but I'm glad that you're here to take care of things."

"It's not just Cascade, Simon," Blair said, leaning forward. "The Legacy is everywhere, and this House is here for you and anyone else in this region to call upon if you have need, too."

"Absolutely," Maggie concurred.

Banks looked down at his drink, swirling it in his cup, and Jim knew that he was wishing he could smoke inside. However, being the courteous man that he was, he pushed aside the desire and nodded. "I know, Sandburg. And thanks, Ms—Maggie," he corrected at her frown. "I'm just glad that I'm not in the bullseye any more." He glanced at Joel and grinned, pushing aside the sober mood. "Now, you, on the other hand…"

Joel scowled at him, and Simon's grin widened. "You haven't told them, have you?"

The big man sighed. "No, but I'm sure you're going to."

"Tell us what?" Blair's question just beat Jim's, and the older man closed his mouth.

Joel sighed again. "I'm stepping into the Captain's spot in Major Crimes."

There was a beat of silence, then Jim carefully asked, "But you're Captain of the Bomb Squad; what about that?"

"Nothing about that," Joel said gruffly, then seeing the bewildered expressions on Jim's and Blairs' faces, he relented. "I'm getting old to be in the Bomb Squad," he said bluntly. "Oh, not officially," he added, his lips quirking at the indignant expressions the two men wore. "But I feel it," he said, sobering. "I'm tired of wondering if my reflexes are fast enough to keep myself and other people safe, and I worry that I'll forget something vital at the moment it counts. And keeping up with all the new stuff, well, it gets to be a strain." He shrugged, glancing at Ellison. "So when you left, Jim, I asked if I was an acceptable candidate for the job–"

"I bet they jumped at the chance," Blair interrupted, grinning.

Joel shrugged. "I'm a known quantity, they've worked with me before, and they know how I operate. I think that was why I got it. I'm not replacing you, Jim," he added, looking at Jim. "Your men miss you, even if they understand why you don't want the job. But this way you have a contact in the department, and so does the Legacy."

Jim grinned, then reached over to slap him on the shoulder. "Congratulations. And thanks."

Joel blinked at him. "For what?"

"For everything," Ellison said seriously, "but in particular for being there for my– For the guys."

"Hey," Simon said, cutting in. "You were Captain of Major Crimes, Jim, and don't you forget it. You earned the place, you did your job, and you earned the respect of your men. They'll always be your men to some degree, just like they'll always be mine, too. Even as you and they move on, you'll always feel like that about them and they about you, just a little. So don't try to bury that under the rug, and don't ever be ashamed of the job you did."

Jim flushed, looking away to stare out the window, feeling the heat high in his cheeks as Joel nodded. "Thanks," he said lowly.

"Well," Blair said brightly, "what are we all waiting for? There's a party going on out there, and we've got lots to celebrate! Let's go."

"After you, Sandburg," Simon said, waving him ahead. "Are you guys going to show us over this mansion of yours?"

"And where do you live in here, anyway?" Joel asked as he fell into step with Simon, both men following the Guide out of the room.

Jim watched them go, then turned back to stare out the window again, not too surprised to find Maggie standing beside him. She had faded back during the conversation, leaving all of them alone, but now…

They stood for a long moment, watching the city lights twinkle, until finally Jim glanced at her. "I don't ever want to be a precept," he said starkly.

Her lips quirked as she turned to glance at him. "Yes, I know."

Ellison frowned at her. "Is that an agreement?"

She looked at him, serious. "Do you want it to be?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "You're starting to sound like Sandburg. A simple yes or no would do."

Her lips twitched. "Answers are never that simple, Jim, particularly in the Legacy." She held up a hand at his snort, then continued. "I know that you don't want to be the precept of a House, or of this House. That's fine. I don't believe that it's a place you would fill happily, anyway, and I don't see you standing there." She looked at him, her green eyes suddenly bright. "But Blair might."

Jim swallowed, fighting back his urge to snap as fear swamped him. He couldn't protect his Guide by standing in his way, not here.

"I'm not saying he will," Maggie said, her too-understanding gaze fixed on him. "But he might, someday. If he does, can you deal with him calling the shots, as you say?"

Jim looked past her, studying the trees that rustled in the evening breeze, remembering what it felt like to follow Blair's tug into the link. "I think so."

"Good," she said briskly. "Then let's go join the party, before everyone finishes off those delicious brownies and leaves none for us."

"Amen to that," the Sentinel agreed, and followed his precept into the Legacy House.

 

 

The End… and a New Beginning

 

[1] See previous story in timeline: "Roger's Calling," in _Sensory Overload 9_.

[2] See previous story in timeline: "Roger's Calling," in _Sensory Overload #9_.


End file.
